More travelogues soon. In the meantime.....

When Do-Gooders Travel

In the Sunday Times, I always look for "Why We Travel" in the Travel Section. Each week, a photograph and short description highlight a particular traveler's experience.

This issue featured a Georgia couple, Dannie and Vicki Smith, visiting the Orthodox Cathedral in Chisinau, Moldova. The Smiths were part of a Christian mission trip, sponsored by the Christian Medical and Dental Association. Mrs. Smith spoke of the poverty in Moldova and praying with the villagers and the comfort the team was able to bring to their lives. Before returning home, they visited the Cathedral in the capital. Mrs. Smith's commented, as follows:

I remember thinking that all the beautiful icons, paintings and other antique things in the church were beautiful and old, but also that it all seemed a waste of money. I thought of all the ‘stuff’ we were looking at and thought that really, God is simple and seen in creation, not in what our hands can make.

While sad, it is oh so typical: standing in a holy place, undoubtedly bathed in the blood of martyrs, American evangelicals see only a "waste of money." Certainly such things would be out of place in a nondenominational Faith Outreach Center or some such back home in Thomaston, Georgia. In a stripped-down, clinical, cramped, least-common-denominator, protestantized Christianity, beauty must indeed seem foolish (though I suspect a gymnasium attached to the church auditorium would not seem so.) I am hardly the one to make the case for why such a view is so wrong-headed. But Mrs. Smith would might do well to read Dostoevsky, who observed that God will save the world through beauty.

In no way do I intend to discredit good works of the well-intentioned, who offer their medical services to people in need. Mrs. Smith plans to return next year because "we love the people of Moldova and realize that we can offer them hope.” Well, maybe so. But between now and then, perhaps she use the time to learn a little something about the culture, history and yes, the faith of the country she is visiting. The full article, here.

Travelogue 3: The Middle East as seen through 7 Mohammeds

On of the joys of traveling in the East is the natural friendliness and hospitality one experiences there. I have always found this to be so in Turkey, and was to find it even more the case in the Middle East itself. They are people given to small kindnesses and courtesies. Of course, the cynic would note that this was totally wrapped-up in the possibility that you might purchase something in their shop. Granted. But the hospitality goes much deeper--to the core of the Middle Eastern psyche. And this behavior goes all the way back to the beginning. Countless biblical passages recount the kindnesses shown to the traveler, the stranger, the guest. In fact, in Orthodoxy, the only iconographic representation of the Trinity is known as the "Hospitality of Abraham," in which the patriarch receives the 3 angels at Mamre, a type of the Holy Trinity.

The innate Arab friendliness and hospitality makes it easy to strike up acquaintances. In visiting the ruins of the Church of St. Simeon the Stylite, I was the only person there, other than a young European couple (German, I think). I wanted a picture of myself in front of the base of St. Simeon's pillar. So, I asked the young man--as politely as possible--if he would do so. He obliged me, and I thanked him. But all I got out of him was a grunt, and a look of being inconvenienced. I am making no sweeping generalizations based on a chance encounter with a rude western European; only noting how at odds such behavior was with what I was experiencing among the locals.

So yes, it was easy to make friends along the way, and for a time at least, most of them seemed to be named Mohammed. I arrived in Damascus on a flight from Paris about 9:30 at night. In the Middle East, many, if not most flights arrive and depart in the middle of the night. My connecting flight to Aleppo would not leave until 1:30 in the morning, so I had a 4 hour layover there at the airport. There were no more flights arriving or departing until my 1:30 flight, but then I noticed about 4 flights departing after mine and before daybreak. So, until after midnight or so, the Damascus airport was an almost deserted, forlorn spot to hang out. The entire terminal reeked of smoke. I am the farthest thing removed from a Smoking Nazi, but as an American, it has been decades since I have been exposed to anything quite like this. But after a while, I slowly accustomed myself to the lingering haze. The shops in the airport remained open all night, but as there were no customers, the clerks occupied themselves with visiting one another, drinking countless cups of tea, and of course, smoking. About midnight, the airport lobby began to slowly fill with Damascene travelers, arriving for the flight to Aleppo. Two young men in ill-fitting suits sat down beside me. They both appeared exhausted from whatever business they had been conducting in Damascus. But after a while, they introduced themselves as Mohammed and Bashar, and struck up a conversation. Mohammed seemed eager to practice his English. He also informed me that he was studying German on his own. He offered to buy me something to drink as we waited. The offering of something to drink is as natural with Arabs as greeting someone itself. It is also polite, and expected, to ask of family matters. I learned that he was 27 years old, one of 7 children. He was engaged to be married in November, but he and his fiance wanted only 2, or perhaps 3 children. We exchanged cards. I learned that he had a stationary store, and also specialized in printing invitations and other items related to weddings. He wanted me to call him the next day, come to his shop and we would go to lunch together. As it turned out, my time in Aleppo was crowded, and I was ultimately unable to do this. As I have his card, I do plan to email him, thank him for his kindness, and congratulate him on his upcoming nuptials.

I spent the first day in Syria walking the old city of Aleppo: exploring the citadel, checking out the Great Mosque, strolling through the souq (bazaar area), getting lost in Jdeide District (the old Christian Quarter), having a beer at the Baron Hotel bar (T. E. Lawrence slept here), stopping in at an internet cafe and just generally soaking up the street scene. The Aleppo souq is one of the most authentic around--not at all touristy, but catering to the everyday needs of its local customers. I was walking back through the souq, as it was the quickest way back to my hotel. A young man in one of the shops spoke to me in English. In Texas, we have a colloquial expression: "this ain't my first rodeo." Well, this wasn't my first souq, either. Shopowners and/or touts will start off a conversation with you, and before you know it, you are in their uncle's carpet shop. This young man was giving it a good shot, and as long as you understand what is going on, why not go along with it. After all, it is part of the experience. As you can probably guess, this young man was Mohammed No. 2.

Mohammed No. 2 was trying out his English on me. Of course he wanted to know where I was from. I replied, "the U.S." This answer is never sufficient, because everyone then wants to know where in the U.S. I put my hand to my mouth and whispered "Texas." This is my standard overseas response, and will remain so until January 20th, 2009. Everyone usually gets the joke and it is a great conversational ice-breaker. Mohammed didn't know much about the U.S. outside of pop culture references (singers and performers I was unfamiliar with), and the names of a few cities--Detroit and Las Vegas. He then told me that he was using Robin Williams as a guide to learning how to speak English, but that he thought he might be gay. I said no, he's just funny, that's all. He then proposed to take me to his cousin's shop (aah, here we go, I thought.) But then Mohammed mentioned the name of the shop and it was one I was familiar with--receiving good recommendations in travel guides, and one I intended to visit anyway before leaving Aleppo. So, I agreed to accompany Mohammed to his cousin's shop. If I purchased anything, he would receive a commission.

The cousin's establishment was an actually a nice place to stop; a small, corner shop, chock-full of interesting items. The cousin, Mohammed No. 3, seemed to be an earnest young entrepreneur. He could just as easily be selling real estate in Dallas. As it turns out, he had just returned from the U.S., as his wife was from Boston. And he was planning to return again before long. While he was busy talking to a client or supplier on the audio of his laptop, I sat around and drank tea and visited with Mohammed No. 2 and the manager of the store. Before I left, Mohammed No. 3 opened a secret door in the back wall, exposing a tiny staircase going up. We went upstairs, and sure enough--carpets! Like I say, I've been around enough in the region to understand the carpet market a bit. I really don't mind the sales pitch, if I'm rested and in the mood for it. But I walked away without purchasing...this time.

That night, I bumped into the manager of the store, and as neither of us had yet eaten, we had supper together at a nearby cafe. I was introduced to a dish pronounced something like "badinjon," which is ground lamb meat stuffed in eggplant--delicious! We had an interesting meal--touching on foreign relations and even religion. He described an unpleasant recent experience at the American embassy in Damascus. He had traveled there to take care of some visa paperwork for his employer. In his view, the soldiers and embassy staff unnecessarily humiliated him in their various security checkpoints. I replied that Americans are completely paranoid about terrorism. No, he said, Americans are afraid. I did not disagree with him. He asked about my komboschini (prayer rope). I explained to him what it was for and the words of the prayer. He did not understand the word "mercy," and asked me to explain what that was. I did my best to explain, all the while amazed to be reminded that this is a foreign concept in Islam. This episode put me in mind of a Spengler article from 2 years ago, that I re-read once I returned home. Spengler observed:

There is no Grace in Islam, no miracle, no expiatory sacrifice, no expression of love for mankind such that each Muslim need not be a sacrifice. On the contrary, the concept of jihad, in which the congregation of Islam is also the army, states that every single Muslim must sacrifice himself personally. Jihad is the precise equivalent of the Lord's Supper in Christianity and the Jewish Sabbath, the defining expression of sacrifice that opens the prospect of eternity to the mortal believer. To ask Islam to become moderate, to reform, to become a peaceful religion of personal conscience is the precise equivalent of asking Catholics to abolish Mass.

The entire article, found here, is well worth a read.

Before we parted that night, we met a friend of his--Mohammed No. 4. This young man operated a shop where he and his brother made towels. I walked over to a shop where his brother was working on the loom--that's right, the loom. They had learned the trade from their grandfather, who had learned it from his grandfather and who knows how far back beyond that. These brothers were at least the 5th generation in their family to operate this loom. They made a variety of towels, including supplying the towels for all the hammams (turkish baths) in the city. I sat there in this shop, drinking tea and chatting with Mohammed, while his brother was operating the loom. I learned that it took them 3 hours to make a full-sized towel. They kept the loom going for about 18 hours a day, with their dad opening early, and the sons working late. The following night was to be my last night in Aleppo. Before I left, I made sure I made my way back to this little shop and purchased a couple of hand towels for our kitchen.

The next morning I had arranged for a car and driver to go out to the Church of St. Simeon and also the Church at Qual Lauzeh. My driver was an older man who introduced himself to me as Mohammed. (Of course you are, I thought!) Mohammed No. 5 spoke some French and a smattering of English. I spoke no Arabic, and a smattering of French. We met, conversationally, at "Franglish," I suppose. Unfortunately, he assumed my French was better than it actually was. While we were driving north of Aleppo, I asked about his family. Mohammed had 2 wives, with 8 children by the first and 1 by the second. I asked if that was a problem. He replied, "for you, yes; but for me, no." He went on to say that Islam allowed him 4 wives. I already knew that, and was really asking if it was problematic having 2 wives together in the same household. But I never received an answer to that question! Later on, he observed, "la vie est dificile." I thought (but didn't say): "well, you should have thought of that before you had 2 wives and 9 children!"

Mohammed No. 6 came along on the last night in Aleppo. I received a recommendation on a nearby hamman. The Arabs, and all peoples of the Levant, for that matter, place great emphasis on personal cleanliness, and these Turkish baths are part of that rich cultural legacy. We would characterize them as just giant steam baths, but there is a definite protocol and etiquette to using these facilities. This particular hamman was of recent construction and contained, of all things, a swimming pool, as well. I am just like a little kid: give me 3 ft. of water and I'm happy. Mohammed, the manager of the hamman, was a real hoot--a cut-up, as we would say around here.

It was a number of days before I met Mohammed No. 7. He was our driver for 5 days in Jordan. This Mohammed was in his early 40s, a professional driver with a nice sedan for hire. He lived in Amman, with a wife and 3 or 4 children. He was consistently good-natured. As my nephew and I pulled ourselves out of the Dead Sea, Mohammed was waiting for us with ice cream cones. Only near the last, did we discover that he was actually Palestinian, whose family was from Bethlehem. He told us that his family had left Palestine for Amman 20 years earlier. Mohammed wouldn't talk about it, but I am sure there is a sad story behind it all.

Pictures:
Rublev's Hospitality of Abraham
Mohammed No. 4 and myself in his towel shop
In the souq, Aleppo

Travelogue 2: Out and About in the Police State

When you travel someplace new and then find that everything is exactly as you expected it to be, than chances are, you just have not been paying attention. The true joy of travel lies in the unexpected discovery. This certainly applies to my visit to Syria.

As mentioned earlier, I took a little perverse pleasure in going to Syria, a country which didn't quite make Bush's "Axis of Evil" list, but is probably number one on the list of "Friends of the Axis of Evil." Our current administration has been huffing and puffing about Syria for years, apparently to no avail. And lets' face it, Damascus has often been something less than a class act. They have been behind perfectly dreadful developments in Lebanon, for example. Every country sees to their own self-interests, maintaining alliances designed for their security, not ours. Syria has managed to survive in a very tough neighborhood. And that's my point, I guess--it's their neighborhood, not ours.

























The al-Assad family has been in power since 1970, a monarchy in everything but name. Hafez al-Assad was the long-running dictator. He was grooming his dashing, daring, race-car driving eldest son, Basil, as successor. But this son died in a smash-up in 1994. The next son, Bashar, did not quite fit the strongman mold. He was a London ophthalmologist, and looked the part--tall and gangly, with a weak chin and somewhat cheesy moustache. But Bashar has apparently taken to the dictator business. He assumed power in 2000 upon his father's death, and the al-Assad machine seems to be running as smoothly as ever.






















Images of the al-Assads are literally everywhere, particularly in northern Syria. It is hard to escape their gaze, either from billboards, or posters in shop windows, or even decals inside of taxis. Some shop owners seem to be competing to see how many posters of Bashar al-Assad they can put up in their stores. Some are of Bashar looking sternly, others of him smiling broadly, some are of him in military uniform, and some are of him with his sons--introducing, I suppose, the next generation to his country. Aleppo seems even more awash in Assads than Damascus. I had to chuckle at what I saw on the outskirts of the city. On the main highway from Damascus, in the middle of a large traffic circle, is a grandiose larger-than-life statue of Bashar al-Assad. He is portrayed in his military uniform, riding a steed, which happens to be in mid-jump. As such, al-Assad is raised somewhat from the saddle. He and the horse are facing Aleppo, so that when one is entering the city from Damascus, the first sight that greats drivers is the rather ample cast-iron butt of Bashar al-Assad. I can say that now.


























Syrians love to discuss world events and politics--obviously, just not Syrian politics. Our own president loves to speak of the Middle East's "yearning" for liberty and freedom. Most of our country (or at least 72%) now recognize this as the self-serving, self-justifying, fantasizing rhetoric that got us in the mess we now find ourselves in. Admittedly, my exposure to Syria is limited to this recent 10-day stay in their country. But I detected no such Bushian "yearnings." In fact, time and again in my travels, I am struck by the utter sameness of the human condition. Blue jeans cost nearly as much over there as they do here, but my friend in Aleppo only makes $60 per week. Syrians yearn for the same things we do: economic opportunity, a house of their own, food on the table, education for their children, a little security in old age, and maybe a day at the seashore now and then. If the central government is not too obtrusive, I don't think they are terribly concerned that theirs is an authoritarian regime. The problem Syria faces is providing jobs for its burgeoning population (one is immediately struck by the number of children in the country). But I saw no evidence of a downtrodden, resentful citizenry. In fact, Syria showed every sign of being a going concern, with lots of commerce amidst something of a building boom.

This brings me to where I am going with this. An abiding passion of mine is the plight of the ancient, authentic, indigenous Christian communities of the Middle East. In this regard, we are accustomed to certain images and news stories: the persecution and dhimmitude of the Egyptian Copts, the plight of the diminishing Palestinian Christians caught between the Israeli confiscation and Palestinian Muslim extremism, the destruction of the 2,000 year old Iraqi Christian society, the massacre of southern Sudanese Christians, beheadings of priests in Kurdistan, Armenian genocide denial, and the on-going strangulation of Orthodox Christianity in Turkey. The common thread which runs through all these stories--their precariousness--is an unrelentingly bleak picture.

I am pleased to report that such does not seem to be the case in Syria, or Jordan either for that matter. In Turkey, our churches are hidden, closeted behind walled compounds. In Syria and Jordan, Orthodox and Catholic churches are out in the wide open, for everybody to see. In Turkey, the Orthodox are not seen as Turkish at all, but a foreign element--Greeks, to be precise (the fact that they were there a 1,000 years before the Turks is an inconvenient and forgotten historical fact among Turks. ) In Syria, Christians are seen as Syrians, and Arabs....just Syrian Arab Christians. Christian society is not at all hidden. Such seems to be the case for Jordan, as well. In Aleppo, there are 60,000 Armenian Christians alone. In Hama, one of the most conservative Muslim cities in Syria, a new Greek Orthodox cathedral, and educational complex sit un-walled, in the very heart of the city. In northwest Syria, a string of 27 Christian towns and villages is known as "Christian Valley." At the monastery of St. George, I met up with 2 busloads of "church ladies" on a pilgrimage from the Orthodox Church in Latakia. Churches are dotted throughout downtown Damascus--certainly not as ubiquitous as mosques, but noticeable all the same. We were blessed to attend a liturgy in THE Church of St. George in Ez'ra, which contains the actual tomb of St. George. The church was full of young people, with enthusiastic chanting that would make any Baptist or Church of Christ member proud. This 4th-century church was impressive in its own right, but I noticed 3 other churches in the near neighborhood, including one large new church under construction. Looking out over Sednaya, from the terrace of its famous convent, I counted at least a half-dozen church domes. In Madaba, Jordan, I would watch the Muslim boys walking to their school in one direction, and the Muslim girls, in their green tunics, walking to school in the other direction. But the best school in town was the huge Orthodox school in the center of town.























In short, the safest place for Christians in the Middle East is in Syria, and I suppose, Jordan. In fact, most of the Iraqi Christians who have fled the destruction of their community have settled here. Maybe that is why I give the Assad regime a bit of a pass. The Assads themselves are a member of a small minority--the Alawites, a heretical offshoot of Shiite Islam, in a country that is overwhelmingly Sunni. (It would be somewhat akin to a Mormon being ruler over a country of Southern Baptists.) Obviously, this situation may not last...things can change (see Iraq). And as I understand it, many of these Christians have an exit strategy, in case things turn sour. But for now, Syria is a place of Christian refuge. And for this, they deserve more credit than we have given them.

More on the Syrian Christian community in my next post.

Pictures:
me at the ruined Church of St. Simeon the Stylite
Damascus street scene (Four Seasons Hotel on left)
near the old city, Damascus (with billboard of Bashar al Assad)
Aleppo castle (the one the Crusaders didn't capture)
Sunday school class after liturgy, Church of St. George, Ez'ra

I Just Love Irony

Today I read where Dr. James Dobson took issue with Barack Obama, here. I particularly noted one quote:

"I think he's deliberately distorting the traditional understanding of the Bible to fit his own world view, his own confused theology," Dobson said, adding that Obama is "dragging biblical understanding through the gutter."

Maybe the word "traditional" has a different meaning to Dr. Dobson. But of course, he should be an expert when it comes to "confused theology."

Like I say, I just love irony.

Actually, I think Dr. Dobson is a bit flustered, as things seem to be falling apart in the Southern religio-political coalition. He doesn't like John McCain any better. Maybe he's losing his focus.

Death of Henry Chadwick

James notes the death of Henry Chadwick, here.

Travelogue 1: Thoughts On Travel

No way around it--travel is one of life's luxuries. I consider it neither a right, nor perhaps even a privilege, but rather an indulgence reflecting the affluence of our age. Nor does travel necessarily bring out the best in human nature, exposing one as it does to temptations heretofore unimagined. Throughout history, travel for pleasure, or even for education, was something of a novelty. But in all times, there were those who were curious to see what lay on the other side of the hill. So, I am deeply thankful that at this stage of my life, family and financial obligations have arranged themselves in such a manner as to allow me the luxury of travel, and to--as this picture illustrates--stand in a Street Called Straight.

I am best as a solitary traveler. I broke from my pattern last summer when I traveled for a time in a company of others, making friendships I hope to keep for a lifetime. But admittedly, a group touring Georgian monasteries is, by definition, something of an eclectic group. All things considered though, traveling alone allows you to stand back and really contemplate the new environment in which you find yourself.

This point was brought home to me while wandering the ruins of Serjilla, one of the "dead cities" in northern Syria. These were prosperous provincial towns of the early Byzantine era, abandoned in the 8th century or so. The sites remain in a remarkable state of preservation--mansions, storehouses, churches, monasteries, mausoleums, etc.--and as William Dalrymple noted, some of these structures need only a roof to be habitable again. These cities fascinated me, being something of an amateur Byzantinist. Theirs was a society like none before or since--Roman power married to Greek philosophy, and all baptized with the Apostolic Faith. Standing on that windswept hill, one could almost sense the life of this ruined Byzantine cityscape.

At that point, a French tour group came upon the scene. They were chattering incessantly among themselves, and resembled nothing so much as a flock of noisy guinea hens, clucking and pecking their way across a farmyard. Maybe they were able to appreciate the site, but it is hard to see how with all the commotion.

I do not understand escapist travel either: mindless cruises, hedonistic spas, self-indulgent gambling junkets and such like. Unless one discovers a way to leave your mind at home (which is apparently the whole draw of Las Vegas), there is no possible way to "get away from it all." What a colossal waste of time and money.

Travel does offer a different perspective through which to view one's own life. This does not mean that you simply replace your traditions, views, and values with those of the places you visit. Rather, travel provides a differing context in which to better understand your own life situation, your place in the world and most importantly, to contemplate those things of a salvific nature.

That's all very high-minded and all, but how do I explain my recent travels to Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Palestine, and inadvertently, Israel? Particularly in regard to Syria, Lebanon and Palestine, I have several flippant retorts at the ready. One, to quote Kinky Friedman's 2006 Texas gubernatorial campaign slogan--"Why the hell not?" Next, I do not like to stand in lines, so I go places where tourists aren't. Finally, the mere thought that the Bush-Cheney gang might not approve of my travels in Syria, Lebanon and Palestine is just all the more incentive to go.

On my flight from DFW to Paris, I couldn't help but overhear a one-sided conversation in the seats behind me. A man in his early 60s--garrulous, talkative and a bit profane--determined to strike up a conversation with his seatmate, a man of his early 40s. The older man had been quite literally everywhere, starting with a tour of Vietnam in the 60s. He was now headed for--as he said, Slovania and Croatia. The younger man was not at all talkative. He was an engineer for some large Texas oil drilling firm, that was sending him to Toulouse to meet with French designers of a specialized drilling tool. He was almost moping about the trip (oh yes, an expense paid trip to France in the spring is perfectly dreadful!) By the time we were in the air, the older man was already on his first vodka tonic and carrying on what was very much a one-sided conversation about travel and places around the world. He asked the younger man if he was familiar with Slovania and Croatia, to which the man replied that he had never heard of them. Finally, the younger man, in an apparent effort to contribute something to this conversation, asked "Well, why in the world are you going to Slovenia?" The older man seemed taken aback, and momentarily at a loss for words. He paused briefly and replied, "Well, I've never been there." At this point, I leaned over my seat and said "that is exactly the right answer."

But the real reason I chose Syria has a lot to do with William Dalrymple, and his From the Holy Mountain. This book from the mid 1990s chronicles the plight of the ancient and now-beleaguered Orthodox Christian communities in the modern Levant. Dalrymple is simply one of the best travel writers around, and much of my explorations in recent years have been in retracement of his steps. Since my first exposure to his work, I have become Orthodox myself, which obviously adds another dimension to my travels.

Though taking root here and there, Orthodoxy remains something of an exotic hothouse flower in America. And yet, contrary to some, I am not at all pessimistic about Orthodoxy's prospects in our country. For it is a permanent thing, tenacious and resilient. I see pockets of the ancient faith that survive (and even prosper) in parts of the Middle East, in the face of a prevailing culture that is overwhelmingly in opposition, if not downright antagonism, to Orthodoxy. So there are lessons for us here as we strive for lives of authentic faithfulness. Our own culture, with its artificial divide between all things secular and the Divine, is no less antagonistic.

Other travel posts to follow...

Photographs, in order:

The Street Called Straight, Old City Damascus

Bazaar, Old City Damascus

The Final Judgement, Mar Mousa Monastery, Syria

View from Mar Mousa looking East

Church of St. George, Ezra, Syria

Your Man in Damascus

Just checking in...I have spent the last week in Syria, as well as 1 day in Lebanon. Later on, I will be in Jordan and Palestine. Smooth sailing so far...

Blogging Doldrums

I'm in a bit of a blogging slump these days. I remain determined to avoid any discussion here about the current presidential race (at least until it's over). That takes a lot of material off the table.

Some of my favorite writers are certainly not suffering through any slump. For starters, I enthusiastically recommend the two posts below:

Fr. Stephen Freeman posts his thoughts on "The Orthodox Church and Personal Salvation," using a recent Franklin Graham Crusade to Ukraine as a springboard, here.

And over at Second Terrace, here, I find one of the best essays I've read on the nature of true conservatism.

On Memorial Day, I will be leaving to do a bit of traveling. When I return on June 17th, I'm sure I'll have much to discuss.

May at my house

Gardeners out there will appreciate these pictures, and I ask that the rest humor me a bit as I show off my oakleaf hydrangeas. I have over 30 of these plants scattered around the yard--most raised from cuttings and some now 8 ft. high. I raised 9 plants from cuttings this year that I will add here and there, and around the neighborhood. The pug is Bert, the benevolent and lovable ruler of our household.

Struggle or Surrender

Things are moving along at our little Orthodox mission here in East Texas. I like to sit in on the inquirer's classes offered before Saturday Vespers. We are currently studying An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith by St. John of Damascus. This is one of those works that I have read at, but might never have really engaged if not for the discipline of a weekly class and discussion. St. John of Damascus is rich beyond measure, but I was particularly struck this week by a turn of phrase in the 3rd chapter.

For the things appertaining to the rational world, I mean angels and spirits and demons, are subject to changes of will, whether it is a progression or a retrogression in goodness, whether a struggle or a surrender....

St. John continues on with this line of thought, but I kept coming back to the phrase--a struggle or a surrender. That sums up our earthly existence rather well, don't you think? We either live lives of struggle, in cooperation with the grace God so richly bestows on us, or we surrender to our passions, desperately attempting to ignore the mutability--in St. John's language--of our nature, and the immutability of our Creator.

Struggle or surrender? As mottoes-to-live-by go, we could certainly do worse.

Seen and Overheard

A few weeks back--right around western Easter--my wife and I made a short, overnight trip down to central Texas. She likes to go to Salado, one of Texas' most historic communities, now chock-a-block with shops and boutiques full of the nonessentials of life. My wife enjoys browsing the shops, and ultimately purchasing nothing. There's a good used bookstore we always hit, as well as the main draw for me--the Stagecoach Inn--an old watering hole dating back to 1854 or so, offering some of the best cooking around. Most travelers zip down Interstate 35 totally oblivious (thankfully) to this little detour. About 30 twisting miles west of Salado lies that isolated corner of the Hill Country where my dad grew up. A trip to Salado necessarily involves a loop through this area, where we place flowers at graves of loved ones and touch base with the remaining familiar landmarks.


On any road trip, one of my favorite pastimes involves observing the churches I pass along the way. I commented on this at great length, here, a couple of years ago. American religiosity provides endless fodder for the irony mill. We were not far from home, before I noticed a banner outside a small Methodist Church. The church sits on a small lot on a side street of a once-rural, now thoroughly suburbanized community. The Methodists are struggling, it seems, to remain relevant and attract new congregants. The church itself was built back in the 1920s, with a large front porch, flanked by shady sycamores. Worship services are now livened-up with a bluegrass band, made up primarily of their own church members. For Easter, they staged a bluegrass concert on the front porch, and invited people to back their trucks up to the church and sit on their tailgates for the service. The banner read something like "Have a tailgate Easter at _____ Methodist Church." So much for your timeless tradition. It's a different setting, of course, but the exact same formula as the "Jazz Communion" I spotted at a toney Presbyterian Church in Houston a few years back. I wish them no ill-will, but when you see this sort of thing, you know that the battle has already been lost there.


On down the road a bit, the highway slices through a particularly bleak little community. It has been a tumble-down sort of place for as long as I can remember. But I happened to take note of a ramshackle little church that I have seen all my life. What struck me this time was that their steeple--sitting a bit precariously atop the roof--had been duct-taped together, so that it was now a shimmering silver color. I was touched--there was something Flannery O'Connor-esque about the sight. Somehow, this little church with the duct-taped steeple engendered more sympathy with me that I had for those toe-tappers over at Tailgate Methodist.


Churches along the Interstate can be even more bizarre than what one finds on the backroads. For a church to be located on the interstate means that marketing, by definition, plays a large role in their decision-making. On the south side of Waco, I spotted a large church of the non-denominational variety--I forget the name, but I'm sure it had the word "Outreach" somewhere in the title. Anyway, the church sported a long banner stretched across the entire front of the building, promoting their new "30 Minute Worship at 9:30." Frankly, I don't think they're trying hard enough. You can't tell me that with a little work, that they couldn't shave that down to 23 minutes or so. Maybe they could install credit-card swipers where you enter the building. Certainly, this could cut out all that down time spent passing the collection plate. What with the pressing need for welcoming remarks, jokes and announcements, and the absolute necessity to have 3 or 4 uplifting and zippy praise songs, I feel like they should drastically scale back the sermon--maybe have one of those "Minute with the Master" type sermonettes one used to hear on the radio. Certainly, I think with a little more planning, they could get everybody in and out and on their way to Starbucks in 23 minutes or less.


Though only about 30 miles out of Salado, it takes a bit of doing to reach the family cemeteries. The old communities of Oakalla and Maxdale are well off the main road, on the way to nowhere in particular. My grandparents are buried in my grandmother's family cemetery, which is relatively accessible. My granddad's parents, however, are buried in the old community cemetery down on the river, some 7 miles distance. Even though my dad and granddad were both born there, only the great-grandparents are buried in that community. I always took a bit of secret pride in going there. My family's monuments are generally of a modest nature, but these 2 stones are impressive and commanding. I later learned that my granddad and my two great-aunts purchased the monuments with the money they received from the sale of the farm in 1919--a totally impractical and foolish thing to do, some would say. But I understand completely, and love them all the more for it. Anyway, the community, as such, is no more--the only touchstones remaining are the historic old 1914 bridge over the river (seen in the movie Second Hand Lions), perhaps the most beautiful cemetery in Texas, and the little Baptist church. The church is a one-room affair, with a high-pitched tin roof, built in the late 1890s or early 1900s. The site still maintains a permanent outdoor arbor for revivals and dinner-on-the-groud. This was never our church--my paternal lines divided neatly between Presbyterians and Campbellites, but never Baptists. Yet, the church was always something of a touchstone for me...until now. The little chapel in the valley is now a "cowboy church." The sign out front displays not a cross, nor a verse of scripture, but a silhouette of a cowboy roping a steer. For better or worse--and believe me, back in my Church of Christ days we used to have heated discussions with them--the Baptist Church had theological legs. They stood for certain perceived truths. In the past, we would argue our "faith which works" against their "faith without works." I don't know what positions the Cowboy Church takes....Wranglers vs. Levis, perhaps. The bottom line, the church is now defined by the hobby and fashion choice of its members.


I recently visited a local coffee shop on my way downtown. I arrived too early, for a gaggle of attorneys were still holding court inside. I got my bagel and coffee and found a corner table where I thought I could read my newspaper in peace. But it was impossible not to overhear their banter in this one-room shop. They were discussing the various civic organizations of our city, and the self-congratulatory nature of these groups as they passed awards back and forth among the usual suspects. One attorney commented on how this had always been the path to success in the business community here. He went on to say that such is not the case anymore. The fast path to riches now requires membership in the local Baptist megachurch. The "Baptidome," as it is commonly described, reportedly has 20,000 members (though this seems a little over-stated), has completely subsumed a neighborhood and has its own television station. I have always known that I paid a price, professionally, for not being a member there. But, it was a price I was gladly willing to pay! Anyway, another lawyer responded by saying that if one buys into the notion that one church is as good as another, then why not belong to the one where you can make a little money? I think (hope) he was just playing devil's advocate, but the comment absolutely brought the discussion to a halt, as I suspect the rest were grappling with this uncomfortable truth. For if one church is as good as another, then you can also have a "tailgate Easter," you can streamline worship down to 30 minutes or less and you can fashion your church around your latest delusional hobby.

Iconographer Vladimir Grigorenko

The Dallas Morning News ran an interesting story yesterday on the work of iconographer Vladimir Grigorenko at St. Seraphim Cathedral, here. His 8-year project is nearing completion. While the story itself is well done, by all means watch the video. It is fascinating.

"Putin Picks a Church"

The Orthodox Church, in a manner of speaking, made the front page of yesterday's New York Times. Lead articles in the Times are generally not favorable to their subjects. This article, "At Expense of All Others, Putin Picks a Church," tries hard to put a negative spin on the subject, but I suppose it is all in your perspective.

The writer investigates the plight of Russian Protestants, supposedly suffering from an oppressive and heavy-handed state bureaucracy, aided and abetted by their co-conspirators in the Russian Orthodox Church. The story fits nicely in the Times' well established pattern of Putin-bashing.

There are several problems with the story, however. For starters, the title itself is ludicrous: "At Expense of Others, Putin Picks a Church." I find this image of Putin choosing among churches as an American would shop between denominations to be amusing. Can you really imagine Vladimir Putin trying to decide between, say, the Freewill Baptists, or Missouri Synod Lutherans, or say the New Life Covenant Believers Outreach Center (or is it the New Covenant Believers Outreach Life Center?), rather than say, the Orthodox church which has been the faith of his nation and forebears for over 1,000 years now?

The writer strives to work up a case for the "persecution" of Russian Protestants. I suspect that Russians know a thing or two about real persecution, and this ain't it. To label it such demeans and dishonors the tens of millions of martyrs for the Faith under the Soviet Union. For example, an evangelical Baptist group was prevented from renting a theater for a Christian music festival. That's correct. Oh, the horror of it all! (Would that 90% of Christian music concerns in this country suffer a similar fate.) But I am being cynical, I suppose. The truth is, these groups are merely being inconvenienced. True, some bureaucrats are making their ministry harder with unnecessary red tape and intimidation--in the most time-honored Russian tradition. But a little perspective is in order: Russia without an overbearing, ham-fisted bureaucracy--whether it be czarist, Soviet or Putinist--would hardly be Russia.

Others complain that some government bureaucrats and Orthodox priests do not show proper respect to Protestants, labeling them "sects" and "heretics." We are accustomed to making distinctions between the term "denomination" (which is acceptable) and "sect" (which is unacceptable). Many Americans assume our situation to be normative, and one that should be a model for less enlightened lands. We are too deep in the forest to see the truth behind the shopping mall this is American religiosity. Our situation is nothing short of bizarre. Russians see little substantive differences between denomination and sect. Why should we expect them to play our silly word games?

Americans are united (if, in fact, we still are) around a few core ideals. As I see it, Russians are united around their ethnicity as Russians, their shared history and struggles, in which Orthodoxy is inextricably linked to their very Russianness. When one grasps that, it is easier to understand why they look at what American Protestantism has wrought and say "Thanks, but no thanks."

Many Russians perceive it as alien to their culture. This suspicion was not helped when Western missionaries rushed in after the fall of communism. Eager evangelicals viewed the society as completely atheistic. To the extent that they were aware of Russian Orthodox Christians, they were dismissed as superstitious quasi-Catholics, who were not really Christian at all. I know, for I was an evangelical in those days. The Russian Orthodox Church, which had to begin rebuilding, retraining and teaching at that same time, was obviously frustrated by the crush of Western missionaries. But the situation is changing. The Church is resurgent in Russia today. Recent polls find that 71% of the nation considers themselves Orthodox. Studies also point out that there is something of a "baby boom" underway, and that with such, Russia may be slowing turning from the path of demographic suicide.

Archbishop Ioann, the chief Russian Orthodox priest in the Belgorod region, said Russians had a deep connection to Orthodoxy that the government should nurture. “In essence, we have begun to live through a period that is like the second Baptism of Russia, just as there was before the Baptism of ancient Russia,” he said, referring to Russia’s adoption of Christianity in the year 988.

He said the church wanted warm ties with other faiths, though it was hard to overlook the foreign connections of Protestants. “You know, what else alarms me, the majority of them are born — I must apologize, but I will tell the truth — from the West’s money,” he said. “Naturally, they need to play the role of the offended ones who need protection.”

I have given this article so much attention partly because it forced me to confront my own possible hypocrisy. For while I am coming across as a little dismissive of Protestant missionary efforts in Russia, I am the flip side of that coin: an Orthodox convert in America. So, it a fair question to ask of myself. Orthodoxy is indeed alien to our particular culture. Our convert bloggers love to debate the impact of the Americanization of Orthodoxy in this country. I don't intend to wade off into those types of fruitless pontifications. But here and there, Orthodoxy is taking root in American soil. The difference between the two situations, as I see it, is in what each group offers the prospective convert. At its core, Western evangelicalism offers Russians a "personal relationship with Jesus." This relationship is highly individualistic and centered upon the study of the Bible. In portraying evangelicals, the writer of the Times story lumps Lutherans, Jehovah's Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists and Baptists together. That, in fact, proves my point. What Western evangelicalism really offers Russia is...confusion. What Orthodoxy offers American converts is not confusion, but clarity, communion, commonality and connectivity. Our ancient worship is the same, whether in be in Moscow, Athens, Damascus, Tbilisi, Sofia, Kiev, Belgrade, Anchorage, San Francisco or our little mission behind the Pine Curtain in East Texas; as well as the worship of a church that was already ancient before the New World was discovered, a seamless connection to the saints and martyrs of 2,000 years. So, what is truly alien here? Perhaps it is a superficially Christian nation too long disconnected from the roots of its faith and culture.

Read the story, here.

A Spiritual Psalter from the works of our Holy Father Ephraim the Syrian

149

Christ the Resurrector will appear in the heights with glory. He will bring the dead to life and raise those in the graves. The children of Adam, who was made of earth, will all arise together and give praise to the Resurrector of the dead.

Let not your hearts be sad, ye mortals. The Lord's day shall come and He will awaken and gladden us who have reposed. Those who have kept the law shall be roused before the Lord, and the angels shall rejoice in the day of resurrection.

Let not your souls be sorrowful, ye who were redeemed by the cross and called into the kingdom. The Lord's day shall come; He will give voice to the deceased and the dead will arise and give Him praise.

let us glorify and worship Jesus, the Word of God, Who, according to His love, came to save us by His cross and is coming again the resurrect Adam's children in the great day when His majesty shall shine forth.

Grieve not, ye mortals, over your corruption. Christ the King shall shine forth from on high; He who is omnipotent shall beckon and thus raise the dead from their graves, and clothe them with glory in His kingdom.

If death has reigned and laid waste to our nature because Adam sinned and violated the commandment, then shall we not be justified and saved all the more by the sufferings of Christ Who has vanquished death and vindicated our nature?

Our Lord has granted the deceased hope and consolation, for He Himself rose from the grave, vanquished death, promised resurrection and life, and bestowed great blessings on Adam and all his children.

Praise and glory to the Father Who created us, to the Son Who saved us by His cross, and to the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, to the all-praised and incomprehensible Trinity Who raises the dead and clothes their bodies with glory.

150

All the deceased will arise at the sound of the trumpet and sing praise to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, the Resurrector of their bodies.

O Father who created Adam from dust, O Son Who by Thy cross delivered Adam's race from ruin, resurrect me and set me at Thy right hand, that I might glorify Thy name!

Thee do I worship, O Christ our Savior. Thou art the resurrector and savior of all the departed who were baptized in Thy name and confessed Thy cross and Thy death.

Blessed is Christ who promised life and resurrection to Adam's children in the day of His coming. We too shall arise and exalt Him along with the saints who have been pleasing to Him.

Praise to Thee! By Thy resurrection didst Thou grant all the mortal race the hope of life and resurrection. And we offer Thee praise, for Thou art the resurrector of all flesh.

Ye mortals, exalt and praise Him Who by His death emptied the dominion of death and promised all the mortal race life and resurrection.

May the soul that has sought refuge in Thy cross and inherited eternal incorruptible treasure praise and exalt Thee together with the spirits that number her among Thy ranks.

Meet it is to worship the Father Who sent us His only-begotten Son, Who saved our race from death and Satan, and sits at the right hand of His Father entreating His compassion on behalf of all of us.

THE END
GLORY BE TO GOD!

A Spiritual Psalter from the works of our Holy Father Ephraim the Syrian

145

The soul says: in the hostel of the body have I lived, and the Master of the house has sent for me. I can stay no longer, for the one who is sent for me urges me to go, saying: come out of your house; leave this dwelling, So remain in peace, O flesh, you temporary dwelling, and may I behold you with you on the day of resurrection.

Those who are to take me came with haste, and I did not know of it. The one sent for me now stands before me, and I had no sense of it. Deliver me, O our Lord, from the condemnation into which the devil fell, that hater of Thy blameless sons, and together with Thy saints lead me into the kingdom, that I might sing praise and glorify Thee with them.

The soul says to the body: How bitter is your cup mingled with death! How terrifying is the time and how difficult is the hour of trial! Take leave of the world, O comfortable dwelling in which I did reside so long as it pleased the Lord.

What sorrow will fill the heart of the sinner in the hour when the Judge Christ sits upon His terrible throne. All generations will stand before Him and all the secrets of the heart shall be exposed! Terrible is the judgement, terrible is the Judge, terrible is that hour!....

blessed is he who is sheltered by Thy goodness at that time, O Lord.

I accepted Thee, O Son of God, to accompany me on my journey, and when I hungered thou didst satisfy me, O savior of the world.

May fire flee from my members; may the fragrance of Thy flesh and blood drive it away. May baptism be for me an unsinkable ship.

May I behold Thee, O our Lord, in that place in the day of resurrection.

146

Woe is me, burdened with unprecedented sins! The number of my transgressions exceeds the number of grains of sand in the sea and they afflict me like so many iron shackles, for I lack the boldness to gaze upon the heights of heaven.

To whom shall I run, if not to Thee, O Lover of mankind? Have mercy on me, O god, according to Thy great mercy, and according to the multitude of thy compassions blot out mine iniquity.

To Thee do I run, according to thy great goodness and thy charity.

Thee have I angered, yet to thee do I run, according to Thy great capacity to forget evil-doing.

Thee have I offended, yet to Thee do I run, according to Thy great love for mankind, and I entreat and cry to Thee: Turn Thy face from my sins and blot out all mine iniquities. Create a clean heart in me, O God, and renew a right spirit within me!

I have nothing to offer thee, neither a good deed, nor a pure heart; but hoping in Thy compassion I lay myself down, that thou mightest bring me to contrition and unwavering observance of Thy commandments, and that I might not fall so easily into sin again, but serve Thee from henceforth in reverence and truth all the days of my life.

147

O Virgin Lady, O Mother of the man-befriending God! Direct my heart to contrition and humble it; fill mine eyes with saving tears and illuminate them with the light of thy prayers, that I might not fall asleep in the sleep of death.

sprinkle me with the hyssop of thy loving-kindness and cleanse me. Wash me with my tears, that I might be made whiter than snow.

O Mother of my Lord Jesus Christ, receive this my shameful confession and mine entreaty. Ravish my mind and keep the remainder of my life in repentance without offence.

At the time when my humbled soul departs from my body, when--woe is me!--I will have to speak with the enemies outside the gates; then, O Lady, regard me with thy merciful eye; free me from all the merciless tormentors and the terrible taskmasters of the prince of this age; be my defender and destroy all record of my sins. Lead me saved and unashamed to the throne of thy Son and His unoriginate Father and the All-Holy Spirit--the light-creating Trinity, one in essence.

148

Blessed is the man who obtains boldness in the terrible day of judgement and hears with the others: come, ye who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom that has been prepared for you since the creation of the world!

Then each man, when he sees himself in the light, will begin to examine himself and wonder: can this be me? And how did it happen that I who am unworthy have made it here?

The angels will come with great joy and begin to glorify the saints and extol their lives: their struggles, restraint, vigilance, prayers, voluntary poverty, perfect lack of acquisitiveness, tolerance of thirst, perseverance in hunger, constant maintenance of prayerful attention, joy in nakedness endured for the love of Christ--all this shall the angles proclaim with joy to the righteous.

And in answer the righteous will say to them: There was not even one day when we could be found with as much as one good deed.

The angels will remind them anew of the times and places where they performed their deeds, and again they shall marvel at the themselves and begin to glorify god, seeing that their bodies shine in the heavens more than light--and thus are they repaid for the minor deprivations and sorrows they suffered voluntarily on earth.

They found a treasure hidden in a field and, having sold all they had on earth, they acquired it and found a wondrous pearl. By their suffering did they receive and harbor this pearl in t themselves and, though they were unaware of it, they prepared themselves an undefiled and incorrupt garment.

The labor of ascetic struggle is not great, but great is the respite it brings. The struggle to achieve restraint is brief, but the repose that is its reward lasts unto the ages of ages.

A Spiritual Psalter from the works of our Holy Father Ephraim the Syrian

141

O all-praised and all-good Lady, O fountain of loving-kindness, O abyss of love for mankind! Though I am unclean and committed to this adulterous and rebellious world, careless in both word and deed and even in the exercise of my free will, and want only to lay waste to my life, yet thou, who art a loving and sympathetic Mother of God, be not repelled by me, a wanton sinner, and before it is too late accept the supplication presented to thee by my defiled lips and, with thine all-good and pleasing prayers, incline the Judge to be merciful to me.

Open to me the benevolence of thy compassionate Son; entreat Him to overlook my sinful failings, direct my thoughts to repentance, show me to be accomplished in observing His commandments; do not let me become a morsel for the corrupter of souls--the devil. But by thine intercession renew me who have grown old in a multitude of sins. Correct my decrepit life, that I, having thee as mine intercessor, O all-good mistress, might stand fearlessly before the Judge and escape terrible torment. By thine intercession make me an heir of glory; entreat my Creator that I may obtain all this.

142

Woe is he who abides in sin and can find no time for repentance, for in that place shall he repent, mourning his sins to no avail unto the ages.

Woe is he who says: now shall I enjoy the flesh and I will repent in old age--for suddenly death will capture him like a snare and his hope will perish.

Woe is he who knowingly chooses to sin with the intention to repent when morning comes, for he knows not what the coming day or the night that precedes it will bring.

Woe is he who knows what is good but lends a hand to the evil one, for on the day of his exit the wicked angels will take him.

Woe is he who by his evil deeds causes his neighbor to stumble, for in the day of judgement he will give an account for every error that he seduced others into committing with his evil ways.

Woe is he who has renounced the world yet clings to a worldly way of thinking, for the parable about the man who has put his hand to the plough yet looks back pertains to him.

woe is he who follows the desires of the flesh and is loath to attend to his soul, for his life and his hopes will be scattered over the earth.

woe is he who does not make haste and use all his strength to prepare himself here, that he might there be justified.

143

Blessed is the good and Merciful One Who rejoices over us when we repent and without reproach accepts us with joy according to His love.

Blessed is the Good One Who opens His door to the good that they might enter therein, and also does not lock the door of His goodness to the evil if they are converted.

blessed is He Who grants everyone the means to inherit the heavenly kingdom: the righteous inherit it through good deeds, and sinners through repentance.

Blessed is He Who for the sake of sinners gave Himself up to death and revilement, Who suffered humiliation in order to grant sinners life.

Blessed is He Who created us according to His loving-kindness, Who descended to save us by the cross, and Who is to come again to resurrect us in the great day of His coming.

Vouchsafe me also, O Good One, according to Thy goodness, to behold Thy compassion in the day of judgement, and to sing Thee praise together with the righteous unto the ages of ages.

144

Blessed are they who have loved God, and because of their love for Him have come to despise all that is earthly.

Blessed are they who weep day and night, for they shall be delivered from future wrath.

Blessed are they who willingly humble themselves, for they shall be exalted.

Blessed are they who exercise restraint, for the joys of paradise await them.

Blessed are they who afflict their bodies with vigilance and feats of asceticism, for the delight of paradise has been prepared for them.

Blessed are they who have cleansed themselves of all evil thoughts, for the Holy Spirit dwells within them.

Blessed are they who with all their soul love God more than this world, for they shall be called friends of Christ.

Blessed are they who have willingly borne their cross and actively followed Christ, for they shall attain the Jerusalem on high.

Blessed are they who have girded their loins with truth and keep their lamps ready, expecting the heavenly Bridegroom for they shall reign with Him in the heavenly kingdom.

Blessed is he who has obtained the eyes of the mind and unfailingly applied them in contemplation of future blessings, for he shall inherit those good things to come.

Blessed is he who never fails to keep the day of judgement before his eyes, and endeavors to be found pleasing to God in that day.

Blessed is he who has conquered the carnal pleasures, for at the trial of the last day he shall be made bold.

Blessed is he who has wept for God on earth, for his fruits shall be borne in heaven.

A Spiritual Psalter from the works of our Holy Father Ephraim the Syrian

137

The days pass and fly away. The hours run without stopping. In the headlong rush of time the world nears its end.

Not one day will allow another to accompany it; not one hour will wait for another that they might fly by together. Just as it is impossible to stop and hold back running water with one's fingers, so the life of one born of woman cannot remain stationary.

The life of each person who enters the world is already weighted and measure--he has neither the means nor the ability to step beyond the appointed limit.

God has determined the measure of man's life, and the days divide this appointed measure into parts. Each day imperceptibly takes its part away from your life and each hour unrestrainably runs along its course with its little share. The days destroy your life, the hours subvert its edifice, and you rush to your end, for you are but vapor.

the days and hours, like thieves and robbers, rob and steal from you. the thread of your life is gradually torn and shortened. The days deliver your life up to burial, the hours lay it in the grave, and together with the days and the hours does your life on earth disappear.

The life that you live today will depart and fly away at the end of this day, for every day takes away its part of your life and leaves with it. Every day delivers its part up to burial; every hour lays its portion in the grave, and in the swift flight of time they depart, disappear and are transformed into nothingness.

So swiftly do the days pass, so quickly too does life fly by--it has no opportunity to stop and stand in one place. If the sun were to stand still int he heights and the moon were to be restrained from its movements, then the time appointed for your life could also stop, could cease rushing to its end.

138

The kindhearted God gives us what we ask for not because of our prayers; rather does He nourish us according to His compassion, for it is He Who created us.

Without our asking, the Supreme majesty granted us His own Son Who for our sake appeared on earth and, although we did not ask Him to do so, He offered Himself as a sacrifice for our salvation.

For who asked the Father to give His own Son up to death on the cross? Or who entreated the Son to die for sinners?

To which righteous man did the thought occur to ask the Father to give up His Son for transgressors?

It is truly an unprecedented event, and the thought occurred to no one.

The Father gave us His Son to death on the cross, and through His death sinners obtained life. And if He gave away His greatest treasure, can there be any obstacle to prevent a man who asks such a Lover of mankind from receiving all that he needs?

so let us ask Him, for he does give. Let us announce to Him our wishes, for He will not refuse us. Let us entreat Him, for He wants to satisfy our needs in every way possible.

But in accordance with His justice, He expects our prayer to come to His door, and this prayer has reconciled justice and sinners.

If kindness were to forgive transgressions without prayer, it would be a violation of justice, and no one would contemplate justice any more.

Mankind would gradually be given up to lawlessness, for the Judge would fail to apply the staff of correction. Each man would joyfully continue to sin, for there would be no one to correct him.

Such kindness, however beneficial it might be for us, would soon turn to harm, for it would give sinners cause to ever multiply their sins.

And it is a good thing that in the world, also, justice prompts the use of punishment. For punishment causes the sinner to shudder and put an end to his sinful ways. It brings the sinner to contrition of heart, for it is he who has brought punishment upon himself. And thus the sinner puts aside his iniquities, if only for a short while, and seeks forgiveness for his sins.

Who will not thank Thee, O our Lord? For Thy justice is good and Thy punishment is a gift of grace. Thou art truly good in all Thy doings.

With the staff of justice dost Thou humble the heads of sinners who sin with shameless arrogance and cannot be converted without extraordinary inducement.

May Thy punishment, O Lord, united with Thy loving-kindness, be our mentor. May Thy right hand help us to take advantage of Thy punishment.

139

Lo, I try to gather my thoughts from every corner, but I am unsuccessful, for the things responsible for the passions of my thoughts remain in me. I have not yet been freed from the influence of the evil spirits that will detain me on my upward path toward heaven. I have not yet acknowledged the weight of the multitude of my sins. Those who have plunged me into sin now bear fruit in the flesh of my body.

How long shall I who am wretched continue to become intoxicated in the absence of wine, and neglect my self as if it were alien to me? Like a wicked servant who concocts plots to harm his master, so do I scheme to undermine my own salvation, as if someone else were to suffer the injury my actions produce. I do not want to be vigilant; daily do I offend Thy great patience. My wickedness stands before mine eyes. Yet Thou wilt be patient wit me according to Thy kindness.

Grant me, O Lord, the remedy of conversion, that I might be healed of all the evil that is in me. Grant that I might enter the realm of restraint. Grant that I might spend all the days of my life in contrition of heart. Enlighten the clouded eyes of my mind, that I might rush zealously to embark on the path that leads to thy vineyard.

The time of my life has run low, spent in vain cares and shameful thoughts. My life has come upon the eleventh hour. O Lord, steer my ship with its cargo and grant understanding to this powerless merchant, that I might complete my purchase while I still have time. For the hour of departure has arrived--it already looms before my eyes--and I took fright exceedingly when I saw my poverty.

140

I sin and hide so that no man will see me; but the Lord sees me when I do evil. If a man sees me I am ashamed; but I feel no shame before God. Have compassion and mercy on us, O Judge and Master of judges! If a man be converted, whether sooner or later, Thou wilt accept him.

What shall I do with my sins? I do not know. My mind cannot imagine what I might use to wash and cleanse myself. If I took it into my head to wash with water, then the seas and the rivers would not be sufficient to cleanse me. Yet if I wash myself with the blood and water that flowed from the rib of the Son of God, then will I be cleansed, and compassion will be showered upon me.

Tremble, O sinner, at the coming judgement; with tears and sorrow run to repent. While prayer is still accepted, pray here, that you might be accepted there. Pray, while death has not yet come and carried away your soul, for then all prayer and supplication will be in vain, then even tears will be of no avail.

A Spiritual Psalter from the works of our Holy Father Ephraim the Syrian

133

The Lord is an omniscient giver of gifts. He considers what would benefit the supplicant; and when the Lord sees that a man is asking for something harmful or even merely useless, the Lord does not answer his prayer and refuses him that which he thought good. The Lord hears every prayer, and he whose prayer is not answered receives from the Lord the same saving gift as he whose prayer is answered.

If two people approach the Good One, one in need and the other with a debt to pay, He will give to the one and forgive the other. Thus both walk away from the Giver's door with gifts: the one in need receives delivery from necessity, and the debtor receives forgiveness of his debt.

In every possible way God shows that He is a merciful Giver of gifts: He bestows upon us His love and shows us His kindness. And this is why He will not answer even one inappropriate prayer if its fulfillment would bring us death and ruin.

even in this case, however, when He refuses to grant what we ask for, He does not leave us without a most useful gift, for He removes from us harm and opens to us the door of His compassion.

Therefore be sure that every prayer that is not fulfilled is certainly harmful; but a prayer that is answered is beneficial. The Giver of gifts is just and good and will not leave your prayers unanswered, for in His goodness there is no malice and in His truth there is no envy.

134

Standing by the coffin I gazed therein and beheld the corruption of the flesh. In the grave it had become repulsive--there was nothing to resemble an attractive face; instead dry, crumbling bones covered with corruption were to be seen. With sorrow and grief I withdrew from the coffin, carried by my thoughts to that time when we will be resurrected to the sound of the trumpet and will glorify Thee for the resurrection prepared for Adam's descendants and say: Praise to Thee, O Lord of all!

I heard what is written about the resurrection in the Gospel; I thanked God and exclaimed: praise to the all-holy nature of Thy dominion, that in the beginning adorned our nature and honored it with Thine image, and in the last times sent down Thy Son!....And He saved us from ruin and will come again to resurrect all of Adam's race. He will carry the righteous up to heaven and cast the lawless into gehenna--and they will exclaim: just is thy judgement, O Lord and King! Praise to Thee, O Lord of all!

135

Long-suffering is the Lord, and he draws all of us toward His kingdom; but He requires of us an account for our carelessness during this short time.

He will say to us: for you did I take on flesh, for you did I visibly walk about the earth, for you was I beaten, for you was I struck on the face, for you was I crucified and raised on the cross, for you who dwell on earth was I given vinegar to drink, in order to make you holy and heavenly. I have granted you My kingdom, called all of you My brethren and sent down to you the Holy Spirit.

What more is there that I could do but have not done in order to save you? The only thing I do not want to do is to constrain your free will so that your salvation would become a matter of necessity, not of your own choosing.

Tell me, O sinners who are mortal by nature: What have you endured for My sake, for your Master Who suffered for you?

Let us all come together to worship Him and weep before the Lord Who has created us, and let us say: How shall this race of sinners repay thee, O incomprehensible, good and kindhearted God? Thou Who hast illumined all the universe with grace, illumine also the eyes of our hearts, that we might love thee, O master, and with love always perform Thy holy writ.

Behold the cup of thy terrifying blood, filled with light and life. Grant us understanding and enlightenment, that with the love and sanctity of faith we might approach it and that it might be unto us for the forgiveness of sins and not for condemnation.

136

Terrible is the approach of death to people who are passionate, sinful and weak, who have not tried to live blamelessly in this vain world.

Those who labor, and accomplished strugglers of piety, rejoice at the hour of departure. seeing before their eyes the great labor of their struggle, vigilance, fasting, prostrations, prayer, tears, and sackcloths, their souls rejoice when they are summoned from their bodies to enter into repose.

but parting with this life gives exceeding sorrow to the sinner, who sees before his eyes his negligence and its bitter fruits....What repentance shall then embrace the heart of him who has here neglected his salvation! Alas, O my soul, alas, why dost thou neglect thy life! All of a sudden thy summons will come--what wilt thou do in that place if thou hast been careless here? What wilt thou do before the throne of the just Judge? How is it that the enemy robs thee, but thou dost not realize it? How is it that the enemy steals from thee heavenly riches, but thou art so distracted that thou dost not know it,

Have mercy on me, O long-suffering Son of god and sinless Christ! Grant me, O my Savior, to contemplate the life to come, that I might perform Thy will. In my old age at least make me a participant in thy grace, that I might at least complete my untoward life with a good end.

How shall I who am negligent stand before Thy terrible throne? How shall I who am impatient and useless enter into the community of those who have here brought forth the fruits of righteousness? by what traits will they acknowledge me when the saints and the righteous upon their heavenly beds recognize each other according to their deeds?

No, you have no cause to flatter yourself! The righteous, the chaste and the humble will walk in unapproachable light, but the sinful, the slothful, the proud, the haughty and those who carelessly live for their own gratification like I do--will find themselves in the eternal and unquenchable fire.

Be sobered, O my soul, and pray with tears. Cry out from all thy heart that before the end comes thou mightest be converted and make a good start.

Grant this to us, O Lord, by the prayers of our immaculate Lady the Theotokos and all thy saints, for Thou art blessed unto the ages.