Small Things

Written by Fr. Lev Gillet, also known as “A Monk of the Eastern Church,” In Thy Presence is a book of short spiritual reflections on the presence of Christ. As in the case of the quotation below, these reflections are sometimes imagined as words spoken from our Lord to the believer.

“I come to thee, My child, in the very smallest things, in the humblest details. Each one of thy gestures can in itself become an expression of limitless Love.

Thou dost wash a plate. Thou dost dry it. Let these actions carry within them love toward all those who have eaten off this plate, toward all those who will eat off it.

A woman goes out of doors. She goes to hang the washing on the line so it will dry. Does this rapid movement of service not remind thee of something? Those two arms, spread out for an instant, do they not make thee think of two other arms which were stretched out on sacred Wood?

Everything becomes sacred, if thy love transfigures it.

Love Himself is amongst us as He who serves.”

Excerpt from In Thy Presence by Lev Gillet, St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1977, p. 43.

God’s Jealousy

Once, when I was in college, I got into a discussion with someone about whether or not God is subject to passions. I was arguing that, as God, He is capable of loving us unconditionally, without any of the restraints or limitations we sinful people experience because of various passions. This person then asked me, “But why does God call Himself ‘jealous’ in the Bible?”  I didn’t know how to answer. I think I said something about anthropomorphic language and not taking something like that too literally. But I realized I didn’t actually know what I was talking about, or what it means for God to be “jealous.”

Just the other day – more than a decade after that conversation – something clicked for me. I’m quite sure this is nothing original (God forbid). I probably heard this all explained during one of my seminary classes without it sticking. But in any case, the thought came as tardy news for me that not only can God be jealous, but only He can properly be jealous with absolute, perfect, and passionless jealousy, and that this jealousy is an aspect of divine love.

Prophet Elijah, Grachanica Monastery, Serbia. Photo credit: BLAGO Fund, Inc.

My reflection was actually prompted by the phrase, “I have been very zealous for the Lord Almighty…” in 3 Kingdoms (1 Kings) 19:10. I find this passage to be incredibly poignant. I feel the agony in Elijah’s words, and competing sympathetic voices of fear, faith, sorrow, and indignation seem to well up within me as I read. I wonder what the sound of the “gentle breeze” would be in my ears if I could be silent for a few minutes. Perhaps it would sound to me like this: “I have been very jealous for you…”.

It occurs to me that zeal in humans – true zeal, which is according to knowledge and coupled with love – is in some sense the faintly mirrored image of jealousy in God, which is always according to perfect knowledge and is in fact an expression of perfect, universal love. God, who alone knows infallibly what is good for us, and who alone loves with love as perfect as death on the Cross, is also alone in being able to say, “You are mine, and only mine.” And He says it to each of us, and He says it with perfect dispassion. Perhaps, then, it is not when we speak of God’s jealousy, but when we speak of human jealousy that we anthropomorphize, having substituted something from fallen human existence for something divine, impossible to experience outside the experience of God’s love.

Our Lord with Sts Mary and Martha

There is, however, a very human image of this reality in the New Testament. When the Lord is staying with the sisters of Lazarus in Chapter 10 of Luke’s Gospel, we hear an echo and interpretation of the Old Testament expression of God’s jealousy. To Martha, distracted by many cares, our Lord says, “One thing is needful.” Mary kneeling at the feet of Christ shows us what the Lord would have each of us do, for He is a jealous God. He wants our hearts, souls, and minds – undividedly, unconfusedly, unhesitatingly, and unhypocritically.

I see three practical implications flowing from this reflection. First, God certainly has the right to be jealous, but I don’t. Human jealousy is inevitably misguided and destructive. This is because God alone can demand and expect complete and utter devotion. My jealousy would only conflict with His, being an expression not of divine love, but of self-love.

Second, what God’s jealousy does demand of me is zeal. Like Elijah, when I become aware that God is a jealous God – and this because He loves all people and desires all to abide in Him – my response ought to be zeal for the Name and the house of the Lord, and deep sadness concerning apostasy. That includes both the apostasy in the world and that within me. It is the inner kind that I am most in a position to correct, so I had better get to work slaying the priests of Baal that lurk in the “high places” of my heart. On the level of human relationships (my marriage for example), what is required is a zealous pursuit of loving attentiveness to the other, rather than a jealous (or envious, or self-pitying) withdrawal into sulky defensiveness.

Third, and most importantly, neither the cultivation of holy zeal, nor the avoidance of unholy jealousy is possible apart from doing what both Elijah and Mary show us: silencing ourselves that we might hear continually that gentle, life-giving reminder that we are God’s and His alone.

Fr. Daniel Bethancourt (SVOTS ’07) serves at St. Nicholas Orthodox Church (Antiochian) in Shreveport, LA.  After graduating with his MDiv in 2007, he served as Director of Recruitment at SVOTS while his wife, Presvytera Maria (SVOTS ’08), completed the MA program.  Following her graduation in 2008, they had a very full summer that included two ordinations, a move to Shreveport, the beginning of pastoral ministry, and the birth of their son, Peter Basil.  Fr. Daniel is deeply grateful to God for his family, the people of his parish, the Orthodox Church, and the ability to speak of the summer of 2008 in the past tense.

Scoundrels and sinners

Genealogies don’t mean the same to us as they did for ancient peoples, so the first part of this morning’s reading may be tedious to modern ears.  Most people will remember the list of strange names and forget the ending probably because a majority check out somewhere around “Amminadab” if not before.  By the time we get to the story of Christmas at the end people are a little glassy-eyed.  I actually look forward to it.  I like this reading!

Jacob, Abraham, and Isaac in Heaven (detail of Last Judgment fresco), 1408. Andrei Rublev, Assumption Cathedral, Vladimir, Russia.

Just a word of explanation about the genealogy part. Both Matthew and Luke include genealogies of Jesus in their Gospels and they differ from one another.  No worries.  Genealogies were useful for a variety of reasons, so it wasn’t unusual for a person to have more than one made up to cover their bases. Things like inheritance, land ownership, and vocation were at stake.  You had to prove your pedigree!

Since the point was to establish an ancestral link rather than to list all the family names exhaustively they were not as interested in getting all the names in there just right the way we would be.  Thinking of the size of Middle Eastern families that would be ridiculous anyway.

St. Matthew’s genealogy emphasizes that Jesus is the Son of David. He begins with David and moves then to Abraham, a double whammy for Jewish identification and backward since Abraham came before David! His predominately Jewish audience would be looking for that connection. His aim was to convince the Jews that Jesus was the Messiah and Davidic sonship was essential to do so.

St. Luke emphasizes the Lord’s human nature so he begins his genealogy with Adam to be more universal in his message. For his predominately Greek audience that would be significant. Luke points also to the Lord’s divine origin. He ends with “Jesus the Son of Adam and the Son of God.”

King David. Photo credit: The Temple Gallery

Both genealogies are essential for our understanding of the Incarnation. They compliment one another. Jesus is the Son of God and the Son of David, both human and Divine. As a human being he was specifically Jewish. As God He was perfect God.

The real story here is that the Son of God was born at all. If the Son of God had not been born in the flesh, then he could not have been the Son of David. The genealogy tells us that Jesus was a real, live human being with grandparents, uncles, aunts, and probably hundreds of cousins. Tradition tells us that Jesus had half-brothers and sisters since Joseph was a widower and had children from a previous marriage.

Some of the Lord’s relatives were righteous people, some were scoundrels. At least one of them was a prostitute. Just like our families! White sheep and black sheep. Jesus was a human being with an all-too-typical human family. I’ll bet their Hanukkah dinners were a riot!

This tells us another very important thing. Even scoundrels and sinners are included because this is the human condition. Things down here are far from perfect. The thing is that even sinners and scoundrels have the image of God in them. Whether we are righteous or sinners we all have that in common. Human nature does not become evil because we do evil things. Impossible! What God has called “very good” will always remain “very good.” That “very good” human nature we share in common is what Jesus took upon himself – your nature and my nature, everyone’s nature and yet He still remained perfect God and perfect man! But there is more! Then, he took upon himself our suffering and sins and bore our diseases as well and still remained perfect God and perfect man! This is a very great mystery! He took upon Himself the whole of the human condition from birth to death and beyond and remained fully God and fully man! He took upon Himself all that we are in order to heal all that we are. Why? Because He loves us!

Nativity icon (detail), 11th century, Tokalı Kilise, Cappadocia, Turkey. Photo credit: Andrew J. Frishman

At Vespers on Saturday night we usually chant a prokeimenon that says, “The Lord is King, he has clothed himself with majesty. The Lord has put on His apparel and has girded Himself with strength.” What is this “majesty”? What is “His apparel”? It is human nature. Human nature is majestic. It is beautiful! The crown of God’s creation. It is filled with God as is everything he has made. That we have dirtied this beautiful thing is not God’s fault; it is ours. What we discover as we embark on the interior spiritual journey is that no matter what we do, or think, or feel, underneath it all is human nature which sparkles with the light of God. It is the ground of our being, the truth of who we are. Those who come at long last through meditation and prayer to see their own essential goodness understand the core truth about themselves and their neighbors. The Son of God reveals this to us in the example of His own human/divine life.

Here is another great and strange mystery: we too, even though we are created, share this human/divine connection. In Him divinity is by nature. It is granted to us creatures by grace.

This sermon, “On the Sunday before Nativity: The Genealogy of Christ” was preached by Fr. Antony Hughes on Sunday, December 19, 2010, and was originally published here. Fr. Antony Hughes (SVOTS ’87) is the priest at St. Mary Orthodox Church in Cambridge, MA, where he has been serving since 1993.

The Divine Child

Protopresbyter Alexander Schmemann was a priest, theologian, and one of the leading spokesmen for Orthodox Christianity in the 20^th century. Fr. Alexander served as the Dean of St. Vladimir’s Seminary from 1962 up until his death in 1983. On this day, the 28^th anniversary of his repose, we honor his memory by sharing the following sermon of his. May his memory be eternal!

“The eternal God was born as a little child.” One of the main hymns of Christmas ends with these words, identifying the child born in a Bethlehem cave as “the eternal God.” This hymn was composed in the sixth century by the famous Byzantine hymnographer Roman the Melodist:

Today the Virgin gives birth to the Transcendent One,

And the earth offers a cave to the Unapproachable One!

Angels, with shepherds, glorify him!

The wise men journey with the star!

Since for our sake the eternal God was born as a little child!

(Kontakion of Christmas)

 

The Child as God, God as Child…Why does joyful excitement build over the Christmas season as people, even those of lukewarm faith and unbelievers, behold that unique, incomparable sight of the young mother holding the child in her arms, and around them the “wise men from the East,” the shepherds fresh from night-watch in their fields, the animals, the open sky, the star? Why are we so certain, and discover again and again, that on this sorrowful planet of ours there is nothing more beautiful and joyful than this sight, which the passage of centuries has proven incapable of uprooting from our memory? We return to this sight whenever we have nowhere else to go, whenever we have been tormented by life and are in search of something that might deliver us…

Virgin of Vladimir (detail). Photo credit: The Temple Gallery

It is the words “child” and “God” which give us the most striking revelation about the Christmas mystery. In a certain profound way, this is a mystery directed toward the child who continues to secretly live within every adult, to the child who continues to hear what the adult no longer hears, and who responds with a joy which the adult, in his mundane, grown-up, tired and cynical world, is no longer capable of feeling. Yes, Christmas is a feast for children, not just because of the tree that we decorate and light, but in the much deeper sense that children alone are unsurprised that when God comes to us on earth, he comes as a child.

This image of God as child continues to shine on us through icons and through innumerable works of art, revealing that what is most essential and joyful in Christianity is found precisely here, in this eternal childhood of God. Adults, even the most sympathetic to “religious themes,” desire and expect religion to give explanations and analysis; they want it to be intelligent and serious. Its opponents are just as serious, and in the end, just as boring, as they confront religion with a hail of “rational” bullets. In our society, nothing better conveys our contempt than to say “it’s childish.” In other words, it’s not for adults, for the intelligent and serious. So children grow up and become equally serious and boring. Yet Christ said “become like children” (Mt 18:3). What does this mean? What are adults missing, or better, what has been choked, drowned or deafened by a thick layer of adulthood? Above all, is it not that capacity, so characteristic of children, to wonder, to rejoice and, most importantly, to be whole both in joy and sorrow? Adulthood chokes as well the ability to trust, to let go and give one’s self completely to love and to believe with all one’s being. And finally, children take seriously what adults are no longer capable of accepting: dreams, that which breaks through our everyday experience and our cynical mistrust, that deep mystery of the world and everything within it revealed to saints, children, and poets.

Nativity of Christ (detail). Photo credit: The Temple Gallery.

Thus, only when we break through to the child living hidden within us, can we inherit as our own the joyful mystery of God coming to us as a child. The child has neither authority nor power, yet the very absence of authority reveals him to be a king; his defenselessness and vulnerability are precisely the source of his profound power. The child in that distant Bethlehem cave has no desire that we fear him; He enters our hearts not by frightening us, by proving his power and authority, but by love alone. He is given to us as a child, and only as children can we in turn love him and give ourselves to him. The world is ruled by authority and power, by fear and domination. The child God liberates us from that. All He desires from us is our love, freely given and joyful; all He desires is that we give him our heart. And we give it to a defenseless, endlessly trusting child.

Through the feast of Christmas, the Church reveals to us a joyful mystery: the mystery of freely given love imposing itself on no one. A love capable of seeing, recognizing and loving God in the Divine Child, and becoming the gift of a new life.

Excerpt from Celebration of Faith, Vol. 2: The Church Year by Fr. Alexander Schmemann, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1994.

Do I have to be a monk??

Fasting, praying, Church more than once a week, “take up your cross,” SACRIFICE…Do I have to be a monk?? I have been asked that question on a number of different occasions. With all of the prescriptions given to us to do, it seems sometimes that the Church is asking us all to be monks. After all, monks and nuns are the ones who devote their lives to prayer, who fast all of the time, who don’t have to worry about money or families. Those of us out here in the world have “real” responsibilities and don’t have the time or the energy to focus on all of that. At least that is what we think. Of course, Christ does not ask all of us to be monks or nuns. The life in the monastery is a very unique calling that is blessed and necessary, but not for everyone. Just as all of us are not called to be mathematicians or rocket scientists, not everyone is called to be a monk.

Fr. Philip Rogers

However, that does not mean that everyone isn’t called to some sort of ascesis. That word, most often used exclusively for the monastic life, simply means self-denial, something that Christ tells all of us to do. “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself take up his cross and follow me.” ANY MAN. While not called to be a monk or a nun, those of us who are attempting to follow Christ are called to serve the Lord through ascesis. What does that look like?

One of the greatest monks in history, St. John Climacus, wrote a 30-step treatise called The Ladder of Divine Ascent. This book was written specifically for those who were monks and laid out step by step the way to the Kingdom of God. Though he wrote it in the 7^th century, it is still read today during Great Lent in many of the monasteries in the Orthodox world. In this work, St. John doesn’t just address the monks, however. He was presented with this same question over 1500 years ago: “Do I have to be a monk?” He responded by saying:

“Some people living carelessly in the world have asked me: ‘We have wives and are beset with social cares, and how can we lead the solitary life?’ I replied to them: ‘Do all the good you can; do not speak evil of anyone; do not steal from anyone; do not lie to anyone; do not be arrogant towards anyone; do not hate anyone; do not be absent from the divine services; be compassionate to the needy; do not offend anyone; do not wreck another man’s domestic happiness, and be content with what your own wives can give you. If you behave in this way, you will not be far from the Kingdom of Heaven.’”

The Ladder of Divine Ascent, 12th century icon (St. Catherine’s Monastery, Mount Sinai)

Notice that St. John doesn’t start off by mentioning what we should avoid and not do, but what we should actually do. “Do all the good you can” is very different from “avoid doing bad.” If the answer was to avoid doing bad, we would be better suited to stay in our homes and be alone as much as we can; or, if we are outside our homes, to focus on the task that we are doing and not pay attention to anyone else that is around us. St. John is encouraging all of us to pay attention to the moment that we are in and look for the good that we can do. How often do we drive down the road talking on the phone or listening to the radio and mindlessly make our way to our destination? In my case, too often. In attempting to “do all the good you can,” try instead to pay attention to where you are going, your surroundings. You might notice an opportunity to do good. That goes for anywhere we find ourselves, in whatever company. St. John does not want us not to lie, or speak evil of anyone, or hate anyone by not being around other people. His encouragement is to live in the world, doing your work, going about your business around all of the people that you see and to do good, be compassionate, and be content in your life. Not avoidance, but acceptance and transforming a situation.

How can we possibly have the strength to fulfill all of that? St. John answers that as well. “Do not be absent from the divine services.” All of that ascetical discipline is not meant to be something that we just do in separation from the life of the Church. Quite the opposite. None of that type of discipline is really possible or helpful without a constant connection to Christ and His Church. In our attempt to do good we will often be pushed away. In our effort to avoid offending anyone and seeking out the good we may be hurt and feel lost. The answer is in Christ.  Through the divine services, all of the different ones throughout the year, we are encouraged by the witness of the lives of the saints. We are enriched by the Word of God through the Scriptures. Most importantly, we are filled with the Divine Grace of God through the participation in the Mysteries. All of this helps to fulfill the discipline and ascesisthat St. John was talking about. It might seem impossible, but with Christ all things are possible.

One thousand five hundred years later and I think St. John’s words still hit the nail on the head. Not all of us are called to the discipline of the monastery. All of us, however, are called to the discipline that St. John lays out. So where and when do we start? Right here! Right now!

Fr. Philip and Kh. Kathryn

Fr. Philip Rogers (SVOTS ’07) has served Archangel Gabriel Orthodox Church in Lafayette, LA since graduating from SVOTS.  Along with parish work, he serves as the camp director for Camp St. Thekla, the summer camp for the Antiochian Archdiocese in the Southeast.  His wife Kathryn works in the emergency room at their local hospital and serves as their parish choir director.

Saint Nicholas

St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, 16th c. Russian icon. Photo credit: The Temple Gallery

The extraordinary thing about the image of Saint Nicholas in the Church is that he is not known for anything extraordinary. He was not a theologian and never wrote a word, yet he is famous in memory of the believers as a zealot for orthodoxy, allegedly accosting the heretic Arius at the first ecumenical council in Nicaea for denying the divinity of God’s Son. He was not an ascetic and did no outstanding feats of fasting and vigils, yet he is praised for his possession of the “fruit of the Holy Spirit…love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Gal. 5: 22-23). He was not a mystic in our present meaning of the term but he lived daily with the Lord and was godly in all of his words and deeds. He was not a prophet in the technical sense, yet he proclaimed the Word of God, exposed the sins of the wicked, defended the rights of the oppressed and afflicted, and battled against every form of injustice with supernatural compassion and mercy. In a word, he was a good pastor, father, and bishop to his flock, known especially for his love and care for the poor. Most simply put, he was a divinely good person.

St. Nicholas saves three innocents from death, 1888, painting by Ilya Repin.

We use that term “goodness” so lightly in our time. How easily we say of someone, “He is a good man” or “She is a good woman.” How lightly we say, “They are good people.” A teen-age girl takes an overdose of drugs and the neighbors tell the reporters, “But she was always such a good girl, and her parents are such nice people!” A young man commits some terrible crime, and the same rhetoric flows: “But he was always such a good boy, and his family is so nice.” A man dies on the golf course after a life distinguished by many years of profit-taking and martini-drinking, and the reaction is the same: “He was a good man, yeah, a real nice guy.” What do “good” and “nice” really mean in such cases? What do they describe? What do they express?

In Saint Luke’s gospel it tells us that one day a “ruler” came up to Jesus and asked, “Good Teacher, what shall I do  to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus answered him, “Why do you call Me good? No one is good but God alone” (Lk 18:18; see also Mk 10:18). In Saint Matthew’s version it says that Jesus answered the man by saying, “Why do you ask Me about what is good? One there is who is good” (Mt 19:17). However we choose to interpret Christ’s words, at least one point is clear. Jesus reacts to the facile, perhaps even sarcastic, use of the term “good” by referring to its proper source. There is only One who is good, and that is God Himself. If you want to speak of goodness, then you must realize what–and Whom–you are talking about!

St. Nicholas with Christ and the Mother of God, 17th c. Russian icon. Photo credit: The Temple Gallery

Like God, and like Jesus, Saint Nicholas was genuinely good. Real goodness is possible. For, to quote the Lord again, “with men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible” (Mt 19:26). A human being, even a rich human being who believes in God, can be genuinely good with God’s own goodness. “For truly I say to you,” says the Lord, “if you have faith as a grain of mustard see…nothing will be impossible for you” (Mt 17:20-21).

The Messiah has come so that human beings can live lives which are, strictly speaking, humanly impossible. He has come so that people can be really good. One of the greatest and most beloved examples among believers that this is true is the holy bishop of Myra about whom almost nothing else is known, or needs to be known, except that he was good. For this reason alone he remains, even in his secularized form, the very spirit of Christmas.

Excerpt from The Winter Pascha by Fr. Thomas Hopko (SVOTS ’63), St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1984.

Valerie Yova: Orthodox Music Ministry

Yova conducting a singalong for St. Nicholas Family Night, St. Athanasius Parish

I was raised in a parish in the Romanian Episcopate (OCA), a child of first generation Americans of Romanian parentage. I sang in the choir from early on (my father was the choir director until he became a deacon), taught music at our Vatra summer camp from the time I was 16 years old, majored in music in college and grad school, pursued a career in opera for a bit, and settled down for 14 years in the Detroit area. I was Music Director at the Romanian OCA Cathedral during that time, and very involved in starting a pan-Orthodox music ministry and mixed choir there. I’ve worked (for pay) in all three of the major archdioceses in America (Antiochian, Greek, OCA). Some of you may know me from my involvement with PSALM and my role in PSALM’s first national conference in Cicero, IL in 2006. I am currently in a full-time position at St. Athanasius Antiochian parish in Santa Barbara/Goleta, CA. This is one of the parishes of former Evangelical Protestants who converted en masse to Orthodoxy and came into the Antiochian Archdiocese in 1987.

St. Nicholas Family Night

My personal mission these days with regards to my role as a church musician — what drives me, keeps me going?

• Helping the American Church find the form of musical expression that is going to be most appropriate for our language and culture. The verdict is still out. I think we have a long way to go. I use the best of all of the Orthodox traditions of music, and I use LOTS of music composed by American Orthodox composers, as in: composed FOR English and IN English by someone who speaks English really well! It really does work best, in the same way that opera sings best in the language for which it was written.
• Helping facilitate worship that is prayerful, engaging and purposeful, that has the power to enlighten and “convert” all of us over and over again.

How do I do that? Perhaps that’s a topic for another blog entry!

St. Athanasius Church Choir

Valerie Yova is the Parish Administrator and Music Director at St. Athanasius Orthodox Church in Goleta, CA.