Peanuts, Popcorn, and Christmas Cartoons

When I was young, I would get to watch some great TV cartoons during the Christmas season. Waiting to devour a bowl of popcorn, I would anxiously anticipate the appearance of the “special presentation” logo and with abandon throw myself into the stories of Frosty, Kris Kringle, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Nowadays, kids can watch these cartoons any time, through iTunes, Hulu, and Netflix, but in my day kids could only watch them around Christmas time, which added to the excitement of the season. These shows reminded me that soon we would be celebrating the birth of Jesus—and that soon I would be opening my presents.

However, at my young age I usually “reversed” that order. If my parents or my priest were to have asked me what Christmas meant, I would have had quite a bit to say about what Santa might bring me for Christmas. If I had remembered—and that is a big “if”—I might have mentioned that Christmas is also about the birth of Jesus and the salvation of the world. In my youth, I had offered Jesus a backseat to Star Wars, and I had displaced the truly wonderful gift that I had received from God with opening my own Christmas gifts.

I could easily excuse my behavior as youthful exuberance, blame my immaturity, or point to the commercialization of the season. What I could not get around (even now) is that Linus—the character from Charles Schulz’s “Charlie Brown” comic strip—taught me better; he taught me what Christmas is really about.

Most of us probably recall “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” a TV cartoon special that debuted in 1965 and has been aired every year since. In the cartoon Charlie Brown—the main character in Schulz’s strip—laments the commercialization of Christmas and falls into an emotional depression. Acting as the resident psychiatrist, Lucy (Charlie’s ever-present antagonist) suggests that Charlie Brown direct the school Christmas play, and in so doing find some peace within the Christmas season. However, rather than finding peace, Charlie Brown instead finds greater frustration: the Peanuts gang wants to modernize the Nativity story rather than highlight Jesus’ birth.

Seeking to create a more appropriate mood, Charlie Brown and Linus (Lucy’s gentler and kinder younger brother) set off to find a Christmas tree for the play. As they leave, Lucy requests that they get a “big, shiny aluminum tree.” However, in the midst of the many extravagant and fake trees in the lot, Charlie Brown finds and chooses a humble, unassuming evergreen—the only real tree available.

Despite Linus’s misgivings, Charlie Brown returns with this tree to rehearsal, where the Peanuts gang promptly laughs at him for his seemingly poor decision. Shaken by their response, Charlie Brown cries out, “Will somebody tell me what Christmas is all about?” Responding to his question, Linus takes center stage and recites six verses from the Gospel of Luke:

And the angel said unto them: “Fear not, for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you this day is born in the City of Bethlehem a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel, a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.” (Luke 2:10–15)

After recounting the Gospel’s “infancy narrative,” Linus states, “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

Inspired, Charlie Brown decides to take his tree home to decorate it, to show the rest of the gang its true beauty. Charlie Brown borrows an ornament from the prize-winning Christmas display created by his own dog, Snoopy, only to watch the little tree droop from its weight. After crying out “I’ve killed it!”, he flees in despair.

Now sorry for their rough treatment of Charlie Brown, the Peanuts gang (inspired by Linus), follow after him, only to discover the humble tree bowed down by the weight of the ornament. Linus lovingly props up the tree to give it strength, and wraps his security blanket around its base. The gang decorates the tree with the rest of Snoopy’s ornaments as they sing “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” Upon returning, Charlie Brown is stunned as his friends shout, “Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!”

Charlie Brown learned something valuable that day: the joyful gift of our salvation comes wrapped not in worldly glory but in humility. The Messiah comes not in earthly splendor but in heavenly glory, wrapped in swaddling clothes rather than royal garments. The small tree chosen by Charlie Brown symbolizes the truth of the Incarnation of the Word of God: our salvation resides in an outpouring of love, not in self-glorification.

We can perhaps find even deeper symbolism in Linus’s security blanket (usually an ever-present fixture; he does not leave home with out it!). As Linus recites the gospel verse, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy,” he lets go of his security blanket. Linus has always depended on his blanket to have peace of mind, to feel protected, to feel safe. Yet, in this dramatic moment, he lets his blanket drop, symbolically reaching for the Savior to find true peace, protection, and safety.

Linus also wraps his security blanket around the tree after Charlie Brown flees in despair. This hopeful act suggests that Linus wrapped his fears around the Christmas tree, because perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18). In the light of Jesus’ birth, anxiety loses its grasp upon humanity; our security is no longer in earthly vessels but in the Lord Himself. Like Linus, we might consider letting go of our own security blankets in order to offer the same gratitude.

The brilliant Charles Schulz, through his thought-provoking and heart-warming characters, tried to convey to the world the true meaning of Christmas. Although I now enter into the Advent Season through the rich services of the Orthodox Church, I still carry in my heart the simple but profound lessons taught to me by the Peanuts gang.

And, now, when considering my “Christmas presents” I muse: Am I presenting the Lord with gold, frankincense, and myrrh, like the Magi? Or, am I offering him pride, covetousness, envy, and judgment?

What do I really want for Christmas?

The Rev. Dr. David Mezynski currently serves as the Associate Dean for Student Affairs at St. Vladimir’s Seminary. From 2004-05 Fr. David served as Assistant to the Dean, and from 2005-09 as Director of Student Affairs, at St. Tikhon’s Orthodox Theological Seminary, South Canaan, PA, before joining the staff at St. Vladimir’s.

Can you hear the wolves?

A homily delivered in the Three Hierarchs Chapel at St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary on the Feast of St. John Chrysostom (Tuesday, November 13, 2012).

At night, the shepherds would have heard the wolves. The shepherds in the time of Jesus took their flocks out into the countryside to find pasture and water. Journeying far from the safety of the village or the city, settling down for the night, they could hear the hungry wolves that prowled in the distance. Remember, this was not the Wild West; shepherds did not carry lever action Winchester rifles to fend off predators. The shepherds in Jesus’ day would have had a wooden staff, a sling, and a bag of small round stones. Shepherds had to be brave folks who could face danger. But at night, as the small fire would have been dying down to embers, and as the sheep settled down, they would have heard the wolves, and it would have sent a chill up the spine of the bravest shepherd.

Can you hear the wolves?

When Hurricane Sandy knocked us off the grid and devastated the Tri-State Area, could you hear the wolves?

As the national election shook the country and inflamed passions of anger and bitterness between brothers and sisters, could you hear the wolves?

Hearing about scandals and controversy within the Church on the national level, in the parish, or between friends and family, can you hear the wolves?

It is awfully tempting to run for it, isn’t it? Just give up the whole thing and run for your life. Today Jesus tells us that if the shepherd was a hired hand, if the sheep weren’t his own and if he caught a glimpse of those ravenous wolves advancing towards the sheep, he’d abandon the flock and run for his life. And the sheep scatter, and the wolves attack at will. Now, if we are merely talking about livestock, then a shepherd might fare pretty well if he ran for his life. There are only so many wolves, maybe a dozen or so, and odds are that a pack of wolves would much rather go after a young lamb, a slow pregnant female, or an old feeble sheep.

But here is the problem.

Jesus is not giving advice on caring for livestock; he is speaking of a spiritual reality.

And the wolves that Jesus is talking about are not of this world. They are demons, intent on dividing the Body of Christ and devouring human souls. So, if the shepherd runs away and leaves the flock of Christ to the demonic wolves, there is no safety for anyone. The demonic powers of Satan will not only hunt down every last one of the sheep but also go after every shepherd that runs and tries to save his own life.

But our shepherd is not a hired hand.

Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ lays down His life for His reason-endowed flock. He offers His life as He is suspended on the Cross so that we would know, without a doubt, that He loves us and that we belong to Him. Jesus Christ is the Good Shepherd. He knows His own flock, and His flock knows Him. We hear His voice and we follow Him.

St. John Chrysostom, 13th c. manuscript illumination

Today we celebrate the life of St. John Chrysostom, a man who listened to the voice of the Good Shepherd, a man who followed in the footsteps of Christ, a man who did the work of the Gospel. He served the flock of Christ in the midst of a wilderness of sin: Constantinople, with its spectacles and games, its greed and its wealth, its lust and its passion. The demonic wolves in that capital city threatened the flock of Christ more than any predators in the Jordan Valley ever threatened a flock of sheep. In the midst of that danger, St. John stood by the poor, the weak, and the vulnerable, constantly providing for spiritual and material needs. Ravening wolves attacked him from every side. On one side, strict disciplinarians said that he was too soft in his merciful appeal to sinners. He would say, “If you have fallen a second time, or even a thousand times into sin, come and you shall be healed.” On the other side, influential and wealthy bishops and priests mocked him for his austere lifestyle and publicly accused him of mismanagement, claiming that his care of the poor was a “waste” of Church money. Finally, he was attacked head-on by a vain and decadent empress and her imperial court, who did not feel it was right for a bishop to criticize their public spectacles.

Exile of St. John Chrysostom, Menologion of Basil II, ca. 1000

Yet in spite of it all St. John stood by his flock and never ran for his life. Facing the imperial threat he said, “Though the sea roar and the wave rise high, they cannot overwhelm the ship of Jesus Christ. I fear not death which is my gain, nor exile for the whole earth is the Lord’s, nor the loss of goods for I came naked into the world and I can carry nothing out of it.”He stood by his flock until armed guards dragged him out of the city into exile. But even in exile, he wrote letters and exhorted his friends and spiritual children, reminding them of the love of God and the mercy of Christ. And in his death, out in the lonely, harsh place where he had been literally dragged in chains, he completed his course by laying down his life, in emulation of Christ the Good Shepherd. And with his last breath, saying, “Glory be to God for all things.”

Hearing the Word of God, preaching the Gospel and standing by the weak and the vulnerable, even when it costs you your life: this is the legacy of St. John Chrysostom.

This is our life. This is our work. This is our calling.

Today we follow Christ the Good Shepherd. When a stranger is hungry, we feed him. When a sister is lonely, we sit by her side. When a brother is angry, we patiently listen to him, just like God always patiently listens to us. We follow Christ the Good Shepherd; we hear His word and know that we belong to Him. And we lay down our life for others, just like He laid down His life for us.

Christ the Good Shepherd, 5th c.

The Rev. Dr. J. Sergius Halvorsen (SVOTS ’96) received his M.Div. from St. Vladimir’s Seminary and completed his doctoral dissertation at Drew University in 2002. From 2000 to 2011 he taught at Holy Apostles College and Seminary in Cromwell Connecticut, where he also served as Director of Distance Learning. He was ordained to the priesthood in February 2004, and currently serves on the faculty of SVOTS as Associate Professor of Homiletics and Rhetoric and Director of Field Education.

Holy Thursday: A Feast of Humility

Every year, the services of Holy Week bring before us selections from the Old Testament, of Jacob, of Joseph and his brothers, the great prophets Moses and Job.  We hear the ancient prophecies of Isaiah and Jeremiah with an awareness that everything that has happened before, everything that has been spoken, reaches its fulfillment in our Lord’s passion. During the services, the Gospel passages recount Christ’s final teachings to his disciples, as well as the events that lead to his Passion.  As the week moves on, the pace quickens as our Savior hastens to the events that are so familiar to us: the dinner, the trial, the scourging, the haggard procession with the cross, and the brutal crucifixion itself.  The Church speaks of an end, but now as the end of this week draws near, we must also speak of the beginning, and understand both what is old and coming to an end, and also what is new and coming to life.

All around us outside, the natural world proclaims this pattern: the sun casts more light upon the earth than night’s darkness.  As the prophet says, “For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come.”  (Song of Solomon 2.11-12)  The Hebrews even reckoned the annual commemoration of the date of Pascha according to this natural order: “In the first month, on the fourteenth day of the month in the evening, is the Lord’s Pascha.”  (Lev 23.5-6)

Commenting on the Lord’s Pascha, some Church fathers seized on this idea of annual re-creation and used images from it to describe this liturgical season of the death and resurrection of Christ.  Many noted that this was even the traditional time of the original creation of the World; it was a natural transition to see Holy Week and our Lord’s death and resurrection as a recapitulation of that original creation.  The new creation begins on Lazarus Saturday and Palm Sunday when our Lord once again separates light from darkness as he calls forth the dead to life.  And as the great King and true light of the world, meekly bearing salvation, he enters into his city, Jerusalem, with great acclamation.  This great light increases even more as his death, burial, and resurrection draw near.  In the face of the brilliant light of our Lord’s passion, the two lights of creation, the sun and the moon, diminish and no longer illumine the world alone.  The week goes on, and on this holiest of all Fridays, our God fashions man anew, as his Christ is crucified.  From the side of this new Adam will not come a rib, but blood and water, by which he establishes and nourishes the Church.  After this will be the Great and Holy Sabbath, the last day of the old creation; God will rest again.  And on the next day, the eighth day, the first day of the new Creation, the man of the earth, once bound by death, will be freed in the life of Christ Jesus.  There will be a new Creation, peopled by those who have been formed by his word, nourished on the food of his body, and illumined by the light of his power.

Here, on this fifth day, on this Holy Thursday, our attention is drawn to numerous themes – the mystical supper, the scheming of the elders, the treachery of Judas.  But let us stop and consider only one event of this day, the washing of the feet.  For here again on this fifth day, the waters splash as they did on the original fifth day, not with every sort of sea creature, but with our Savior calling forth a new way of life for his new creation.  With the knowledge “that the Father had given all things into his hands,” (Jn. 13.3) the eternal Word of God stoops down and humbly puts his hands in the basin of water to wash his disciples’ feet.  By this humble act, as he washes away the filth and grime from feet that trod upon the dusty paths of Palestine and the alleys of Jerusalem, he will create new winged creatures, as man will soar to the heavenly heights of virtue and will keep company with the angels in the presence of God the Father, with his Son, in the Holy Spirit.

The hymnography of Holy Thursday speaks of the washing of the feet as the time “when the disciples were illumined.”  Illumination is, of course, also the way the Church speaks of the mystery of Holy Baptism.  The Church can use this term for both the washing of the feet and Holy Baptism, because the results are the same: we put on Christ, who is our Teacher and Lord, and strive to be all that he is, by doing what he has commanded.  He says as much plainly: “If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”  (Jn 13.14-15)  This is how the heavenly heights are opened for us: we will ascend to the heavens when we understand what he did to his disciples and for us, and when we follow his command to “wash one another’s feet.”

We should make no mistake; “foot washing” is not an easy task even now, in our world with all the benefits of modern hygiene.  The extent of our Lord’s love for us can be seen precisely in this, as he takes the filthy, dirty feet of his disciples and washes them clean.  The dirt and grime are precisely what makes this act so beautiful.  In that soiled water, our Lord has called forth new life, a life purified and clean.  He has called forth life that proclaims power in weakness, the triumph of humility and service, the victory of love, and the death of selfishness.  Out of these waters, just like the waters of baptism, he has not called us to be proud or powerful.  He has not empowered us to be self-centered or self-interested.  He has not challenged us to become successful men or women by the standards of the world.  No, he has called us to emulate him.  If we have called him our Lord and King at our baptism, we ought to “wash one another’s feet,” just as our Lord and Teacher has done.

On this day, we are given a vision of God’s new creation.  For all of us who live in this new creation, “washing one another’s feet” means giving ourselves to one another in all love, humility, and service.  The new creation is to be populated by those who are willing to beautifully debase themselves and wash the feet of their brothers and sisters, to offer themselves, to humble themselves, to give entirely of themselves, not being concerned by position, status, authority, pride, pomp, or any consideration other than loving their brother and sister the way the Lord has loved them and in exactly the same fashion.

Fathers, brothers, and sisters, as we stand now at the foot of the steps, ready to ascend to the upper chamber and, as companions of our Lord, to partake of the Divine Word, let us commit ourselves once more to this same Lord, who is going to his voluntary passion for us and for our salvation, to inaugurate a new creation.  Let us pray therefore that by emulating in him in our words, deeds, and thoughts, we may find ourselves in that chamber with him and with all those who have been well pleasing to him from all the ages.  Amen.

Archpriest Alexander Rentel (SVOTS ’95) is Assistant Profess or of Canon Law and Byzantine Studies and the John and Paraskeva Skvir Lecturer in Practical Theology. Fr Alexander finished his doctoral dissertation under the direction of Fr Robert Taft, SJ, at the Pontifical Oriental Institute in Rome in January 2004. Prior to coming to St Vladimir’s as a professor, Fr Alexander was a 2000-2001 Junior Fellow in Byzantine Studies at Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, D.C. He has taken numerous research trips to Greece, Italy, and France. He was ordained to the priesthood in July 2001. He and his wife, Nancy (née Homyak, SVOTS ’95) are the proud parents of three children, Dimitrios, Maria, and Daniel.

Palm Sunday: Victory of the Heart

Hosanna! 

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.

Hosanna in the highest!  [Mark 11:9–10]

Today Jesus enters into Jerusalem, and the cheering crowds greet him like a king entering the city after a military victory—the first-century equivalent of a “ticker tape parade.” The crowds have heard about Jesus, about his powerful teaching and his miracles, specifically raising Lazarus from the dead. They cry out “Hosanna in the highest,” a shout of praise and a plea for salvation. “Save us, Lord!” For years, for generations, these people have languished under the heavy boot of Roman occupation and oppression. They are weary of high taxes, soldiers in their streets, and the constant threat of violence. The people are tired and weary and hungry, and they want freedom.

Do you ever feel this way?

Today, in some parts of the world, Christians struggle under the heavy yoke of political oppression and military occupation. In some places, Christians are in the middle of military conflict and civil war. But, even people who enjoy great political freedom can feel this sense of soul crushing oppression. We can be oppressed by strained relationships among family and friends. We can be oppressed by the anxiety and stress of economic uncertainty. We can be oppressed by the agony of addiction. We can be oppressed by the pain and grief of illness and death. And wherever there is oppression, there is a powerful desire for freedom. We may not face oppression from the Roman Empire, but standing with our palm branches today, singing “Hosanna in the highest,” we stand shoulder to shoulder with our first-century brothers and sisters, longing for freedom. But how do we get that freedom? How do we find liberation from our physical, emotional, and spiritual oppression?

The obvious answer is to go out and fight for it. This was what the crowds in Jerusalem wanted from Jesus as he traveled on that “red carpet” of palm branches and the clothes off their backs (Mark 11:8). In their eyes, Jesus was the perfect leader for a righteous rebellion. Surely God’s Anointed One could raise up an army and restore the Kingdom of Israel. After all, if Jesus had the power to raise Lazarus from the dead, he would be invincible in the face of Roman legions. If Jesus was truly God’s anointed one, then he would be invincible in battle. The crowds wanted the kind of freedom that you win with the spear, the chariot, and the sword.

But to win this kind of freedom you need wealth, strength, and power. They sound awfully good, don’t they? With money, a strong body, and political influence, freedom is yours for the taking. Or is it? Ancient Israel had great power, but fell to the Babylonians. In Jesus’ time the Roman Empire had great power, but over the centuries that empire fell to other nations. As one nation rises, other nations fight to gain supremacy. The same is true for people. Today one person might be wealthy, strong, and have all the power in the world. But one who gains worldly power quickly becomes a target for everyone who wants a place at the top of the food chain.

And so, strength, wealth, and power come with a terrible price. They come with a price of fear, isolation, and anxiety. The more you possess of this world, the more this world will try to take away. So we prepare for battle, we harden our defenses and sharpen our attacks. Whether we attack others with swords or words, with bullets or in business, we strike others where they are weakest, where we can do the greatest amount of damage and gain the greatest advantage. The crowd was hungry for power, and they hoped that Jesus would lead them to victory in an epic battle that would change their world.

On a certain level, the crowd was right. They were at the threshold of a great battle that would change everything—a battle that would grant freedom to the oppressed, and vanquish the foe. However, the army that Jesus came to fight was not flesh and blood; it was, as St. Paul says, a battle against the “spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” (Eph 6:12) However, this battle had begun long before Jesus entered into Jerusalem.

After Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River, he went out into the wilderness and fasted for forty days. After that long fast, the tempter comes and tempts Jesus.

“You are hungry? If you are the Son of God, command those stones to become loaves of bread,” says the evil one. This is not merely a temptation about food. Satan is tempting Jesus with wealth. If Jesus were to turn stones into bread, he would never go hungry. And if one were to possess an unlimited supply of bread, he could have virtually unlimited wealth. But Jesus launches a counterattack and replies, “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.’” (Matt 4:4)

Then the tempter takes Jesus to the holy city, sets him on the top of the Temple, and says, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, ‘He will give his angels charge of you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.’” (Matt 4:6) Satan tempts Jesus with strength, with physical invincibility. “If you are really the Son of God, then you can do anything you like, even jump off a cliff, and you’ll be fine.” According to this demonic logic, not only could Jesus perform superhuman feats, but he also would be physically invulnerable. He could literally live forever, doing anything he pleased in this world. The spiritual battle becomes more intense, and Christ replies, “Again it is written, ‘You shall not tempt the Lord your God.’” (Matt 4:7)

Finally, Satan takes Jesus up to the top of a high mountain, shows him all of the kingdoms of the world, points out all the glory of all those kingdoms, and he says, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” (Matt 4:9) It is the ultimate offer of power. What would it be like to rule over the entire world, over all its kingdoms and all its peoples, and have access to all its wealth and all its pleasures? At some level, Jesus must have known that all of this could be his: perfect strength, infinite wealth, and limitless power. Yet, he strikes a powerful blow against the powers of wickedness in his reply: “Begone, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve.’” (Matt 4:10)

Today, on Palm Sunday, we have fasted forty days, we are hungry, and if ever we face temptation from Satan, it is now. We face the temptation to gratify ourselves with worldly delights. We face the temptation to demand our liberty from everything and everyone that oppresses us. We face the temptation to fight for strength, and wealth, and power. This is the spiritual warfare that constantly rages on all sides, and today on Palm Sunday the battle is particularly violent.

As Jesus enters Jerusalem, he faces these temptations as never before—all of those people cheering, crying out “Hosanna!,” just begging him to be their worldly general, their commander, their emperor. Yet, Christ refuses to be the earthly king that the people demand. Instead he will be revealed as a kind of king that the world has never seen, a perfect king, a heavenly king, a humble king, crowned with thorns, robed in the purple of mockery, and enthroned on the Cross. Though Christ enters Jerusalem and is enveloped in a firestorm of temptation, he keeps his eyes on the Cross. This is the victory of Palm Sunday.

And today Jesus Christ enters into the Jerusalem of our hearts to lead us to victory. Today, Christ fills us with his power, his strength, and his resolve to overcome the temptation to worldly power. For “the Son of man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Matt 20:28)

Today we cry out “Hosanna in the highest!,” for Christ vanquishes the powers of evil, and through his perfect sacrifice on the Cross we are liberated from the oppressive desire for worldly power. Christ leads us to the unexpected victory in which the King lays down his own life for the salvation of all. In dying, the true majesty and power of the Lord is perfectly revealed and the powers of hell are vanquished. Following Christ, we lay down our lives as he did: for our brothers and sisters, our neighbor, and even our enemy. Today we cry out “Hosanna in the highest!” as we follow our Lord to his voluntary passion and death on the Cross.

Fr. J. Sergius Halvorsen (SVOTS ’96) is Associate Professor of Homiletics and Rhetoric at St. Vladimir’s Seminary. He completed his doctoral dissertation at Drew University in 2002. From 2000 to 2011 he taught at Holy Apostles College and Seminary in Cromwell Connecticut, where he also served as Director of Distance Learning. He was ordained to the priesthood in February 2004 and is attached at Christ the Savior Church in Southbury, Connecticut. He and his wife, Dina, reside in Connecticut with their children Thomas, Timothy, and Mary.

I believe in one God, the Father Almighty

Photo credit: BLAGO Fund, Inc.

Human suffering, no matter the form it takes, be it natural disasters or human-initiated evil, leads many to doubt the omnipotence of God. Catastrophes such as tsunamis, wars, or ethnic “cleansings,” whose human casualties number in the thousands or hundreds of thousands (or more), stretch our sensibilities so far that they become difficult to relate to or comprehend for a sustained period of time. But suffering cannot be relegated simply to the realm of the extraordinary (although such occurrences take place more frequently than we would like to imagine). Often, we deal with the pressures and loneliness of our own lives, pressures that tend to set a rather monotonous and annoying rhythm, but which impact us nonetheless. Many times, it is the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back that leads to a “blow-up” on our part. When such incidents transpire, the questions that plague us become more personal in nature, leading people of faith to question the almightiness of God. (The atheist, or the non-theist, may have an easier time of things — if life is just a meaningless jumble of random happenings, then I need not see the hand of a higher power in the quagmire I find myself in at the moment.) We cry from the depths of our being, “Why was I not spared this once? Was I not struggling enough? If God is omnipotent, why did He allow this to take place? Surely He knows what I’m going through!”

Photo credit: BLAGO Fund, Inc.

No simple answer can or should be given to suffering. This short reflection only wants to draw attention to a particularly curious passage in the Scriptures that might serve as a guide in our quest to understand the meaning of God’s almightiness: “At a lodging place on the way the Lord met [Moses] and sought to kill him” (Exodus 4:24). This verse comes on the heels of Moses’ great commission, when God asks Moses to present himself to Pharaoh on behalf of His people and plead with him to free the Israelites so that they can journey to the wilderness and offer sacrifices to their God. Yahweh warns Moses that the Egyptian king will refuse to listen, so Moses is to perform all the miracles God has taught him in order to soften Pharaoh’s heart. The next thing we know, the Lord seeks to murder His spokesman. Yahweh may sometimes seem like a capricious deity in the Old Testament, but He is rarely irrational. He either sends Moses on a suicide mission, which Moses successfully avoids; or, more likely, there is something about this undertaking that allows Moses to come so close to the truth of who God is that death must be faced as a real possibility. It is not that Abba wishes for His servants to die (and, by extention, for His creation to suffer), but that in a fallen world that resists to the point of violence the Word of God, those who agree to be His earthen vessels choose a perilous path, fraught with sufferings spanning the entire spectrum of human experience (physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual — and even death).

Photo credit: BLAGO Fund, Inc.

Abba’s omnipotence is often understood to mean His ability to do anything He desires.[1] Such a statement, rather than stemming from a Scriptural mind, seems to be a projection of our own misguided imagination and our own self-centeredness. It is we who wish to do as we please, not a loving Creator who refused to abandon His creatures to the grave. That Abba is almighty means that there is no situation in which He is not present or relevant, no situation that will make Him turn away from us, or cause Him to retract His love from us, or recant His commitment to us and our freedom. There is no circumstance that stumps Him or intimidates Him or frustrates His plans. There is simply nothing that God cannot transform, so long as our hearts remain of flesh.

Andreea Bălan (SVOTS ’10) was born and raised in Romania, moving to the U.S. when she was 16 years old. After graduating from St. John’s College in Santa Fe, NM with a degree in liberal arts, she went to study theology at St. Vladimir’s Seminary. Upon completion of her degree in 2010, she relocated to Dallas, TX where she serves as the youth director for a local Orthodox church in the Antiochian Archdiocese.

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[1] This paragraph is deeply indebted to Rowan Williams, Tokens of Trust.

Bring Forth Fruit With Patience

Written by Fr. Thomas Hopko, The Lenten Spring is a book of spiritual readings for the season of Great Lent.

Photo credit: BLAGO Fund, Inc.

The Lenten season is the time for bearing fruits worthy of repentance, the fruits of the Spirit. In a sense, this is what Lent, like life itself, is all about. To produce these holy fruits is not an easy task. It does not just happen. It is neither magical nor mechanical. It is a long, hard labor. It requires much work. And most of all, it takes patience. Jesus made this point in His explanation of His parable of the sower when He said that the good earth that receives the seed of God’s Word and brings forth much fruit does so only with patience: “And as for that in the good soil, they are those who, hearing the Word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bring forth fruit with patience” (Lk. 8:15).

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In the Lenten prayer of St. Ephraim there is a special petition for patience. It is a necessity for the person who expects to produce spiritual fruits. A garden grows by being tended. God gives the growth, yet His workers must plow and water and fertilize and cultivate. This must be done slowly, painfully, with tireless effort and endless patience. Otherwise, nothing useful will grow. “In your patience,” says the Lord Jesus, “possess ye your souls.” Or, in a more modern translation, “By your endurance you will gain your lives” (Lk. 21:19).

The word “patience” means “to endure.” It means to bear and put up with people and things. It means to carry the burdens of others, and of “the heat of the day.” It means to watch and to wait, not to hurry and to rush. It means literally to suffer with and to suffer through, in quiet expectation of the hoped-for result. For only those, says Jesus, who endure to the end will be saved (Mt. 24:13).

Excerpt from The Lenten Spring by Fr. Thomas Hopko, St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1983, p. 103-104.

A journey, a pilgrimage!

Written by Fr. Alexander Schmemann, Great Lent is a book of spiritual reflections on the journey through Lent to Pascha. This particular excerpt is from the introduction.

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When a man leaves on a journey, he must know where he is going. Thus with Lent. Above all, Lent is a spiritual journey and its destination is Easter, “the Feast of Feasts.” It is the preparation for the “fulfillment of Pascha, the true Revelation…”

Anyone who has, be it only once, taken part in that night which is “brighter than the day,” who has tasted of that unique joy, knows it. But what is that joy about? Why can we sing, as we do during the Paschal liturgy: “today are all things filled with light, heaven and earth and the places under the earth”? In what sense do we celebrate, as we claim we do, “the death of Death, the annihilation of Hell, the beginning of a new and everlasting life…”? To all these questions, the answer is: the new life which almost two thousand years ago shone forth from the grave, has been given to us, to all those who believe in Christ. And it was given to us on the day of our Baptism, in which, as St. Paul says, we “were buried with Christ…unto death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead we also may walk in the newness of life” (Rom 6:4). Thus on Easter we celebrate Christ’s Resurrection as something that happened and still happens to us... He made us partakers of His Resurrection. This is why at the end of the Paschal Matins we say: “Christ is risen and life reigneth! Christ is risen and not one dead remains in the grave!”

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Such is the faith of the Church, affirmed and made evident by her countless Saints. Is it not our daily experience, however, that this faith is very seldom ours, that all the time we lose and betray the “new life” which we received as a gift, and that in fact we live as if Christ did not rise from the dead, as if that unique event had no meaning whatsoever for us?… We simply forget all this – so busy are we, so immersed in our daily preoccupations – and because we forget, we fail. And through this forgetfulness, failure, and sin, our life becomes “old” again – petty, dark and ultimately meaningless – a meaningless journey toward a meaningless end. We manage to forget even death and then, all of a sudden, in the mist of our “enjoying life” it comes to us: horrible, inescapable, senseless. We may from time to time acknowledge and confess our various “sins,” yet we cease to refer our life to that new life which Christ revealed and gave to us. Indeed, we live as if He never came. This is the only real sin, the sin of all sins, the bottomless sadness and tragedy of our nominal Christianity…

Even though we are baptized, what we constantly lose and betray is precisely that which we received at Baptism. Therefore Easter is our return every year to our own Baptism, whereas Lent is our preparation for that return – the slow and sustained effort to perform, at the end, our own “passage” or “pascha” into the new life in Christ…

A journey, a pilgrimage! Yet, as we begin it, as we make the first step into the “bright sadness” of Lent, we see – far, far away – the destination. It is the joy of Easter, it is the entrance into the glory of the Kingdom. And it is this vision, the foretaste of Easter, that makes Lent’s sadness bright and our lenten effort a “spiritual spring.” The night may be dark and long, but all along the way a mysterious and radiant dawn seems to shine on the horizon. “Do not deprive us of our expectation, O Lover of man!”

Excerpt from Great Lent: Journey to Pascha by Alexander Schmemann, St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1969, p. 11-15.

Love, teach us to pray

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.

“My child, do not debate what form prayer should take. Leave to others the distinguishing of stages and techniques. But for thy part, while being grateful to those who have known how to communicate the richness, the living flame of their prayers, be wary of theories which fetter or entangle the simple impulse of love.

My child, everything is so simple! Prayer is nothing other than that impulse of love which can express infinity in a fraction of a second.

The kernel of all prayer is an act of love. Some words, very few words, one word only will suffice to direct a loving impulse toward Me.

As soon as thou hast said with thy whole soul: ‘I love Thee,’ or ‘Give me Thy Love,’ or simply: ‘I love,’ when thou hast thus united thyself with universal Love, thou hast said all.

According to the place or the circumstances, and to avoid embarrassing others, thou canst use paraphrases and discreet adaptations of this impulse of love: but it is in this impulse that the essential abides.

Infinite Love, place on my lips the word of love which is addressed to Love.”

Excerpt from In Thy Presence by Lev Gillet, St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1977, p. 66.

“Be Still”

Holy Prophet Elijah. Photo credit: The Temple Gallery.

These two words immediately call to mind a story about Elijah (1 Kings 19:11-13). We all know the story. Elijah goes up a mountain to converse with God and there’s an earthquake, fire, and what sounds like hurricane-type winds. Elijah looks for God in all of these things, but He’s not there. After all of these things, Elijah hears what is described as a “still, small voice.” That’s where we find God.

I feel I must give the following disclaimer: I am not good at practicing stillness. If I’m in the car, the radio is playing. If I’m at my desk – including the time spent writing this – I’m listening to iTunes. I know this isn’t the best way to live. I know we are supposed to be still, spend time in reflection and quiet prayer and have had many chances to hear it. I first met Dr. Al Rossi when I was working at the Antiochian Village during my summer break in college. He came and spent time with us during training week and taught us the importance of “more quiet prayer.” As I continued to encounter Dr. Rossi at retreats and later during classes at SVS, I found it was a constant theme. He would start and end all of his talks, retreats, workshops and classes with a few minutes of quiet prayer saying something like “let’s take a moment to sit in silence to recognize that we are in the holy presence of God.” I must admit, it was a form of torture to me.

Here’s my elaborate excuse as to why this was so torturous: hearing “be still” stirs up negative and even rebellious feelings for me. As a kid, I was often told to “sit still” in church, at school, at home, in the car…pretty much everywhere. Of course, it would only make me want to do the opposite: stand up and jump around. Now I’m almost 30 and, unfortunately, being told to sit still continues to have the same effect.

While at seminary, my father confessor suggested that I take five minutes a day to read one Psalm and then sit in stillness and quiet. The plan was to go through the entire book of Psalms then repeat it. I made it to Psalm 3. The bookmark is still there waiting for me to pick up where I left off. Why was that so difficult? What is it about stillness and silence that is so uncomfortable for me?

My thought is this: it’s often much easier to make excuses as to why we shut out God – like the somewhat elaborate one above – than it is to seek Him out. It is easier to live in our own universe than it is to endure the discomfort of sitting still and consciously quieting what often feels like monkeys jumping around inside my head. Some of this stems from fear. We fear encountering God in a real way and possibly finding out things we don’t want to find out or, more realistically, things we know to be true and don’t want to believe or follow. It is much more comfortable to stay hidden by the walls we construct than to face the reality that we are constantly falling short.

Our Lord Jesus Christ

Very soon we begin the Lenten period. We must go beyond our fears and move outside our comfort zone. We need to stop fearing the “still, small voice.” We need to look for it, search it out, and, having heard, follow. Let us take this time to refocus our lives, cut through our bogus excuses and focus on being in the holy presence of God.

So, all together, “let’s end as we began and recognize that right here, right now, we are in the holy presence of God.”

Greg Abdalah (SVOTS ’08) is the Director of Youth and Family Ministries at St. George Cathedral in Worcester, MA.  He graduated from SVOTS in 2008 with a Master of Divinity and currently sits on the SVOTS Alumni Board.

Going to Church

Reading the bulletin in Church this morning, I noticed that next Sunday is already Zacchaeus Sunday, the signal that Great Lent is soon upon us. How did that happen? The way the liturgical year works, we fast, then we feast, then almost immediately we fast again. There is almost no “normal time.” Probably the single most important thing to me in my life as a Christian is going to Church. Whether it’s a fast (struggling to stand there and pay attention) or a feast (joyous, peaceful, balm for my soul), hearing the words of God and receiving the Eucharist is what makes everything else in life – every single other thing – bearable and even, mostly, good. When I can’t go to Church, well, let’s just say that crankiness is inevitably around the corner. To go to Church is like breathing.

I can think of only two negative experiences I have ever had in Church. I will tell you about one of them, but first I’ll share a little about myself. For better or worse, I always make things too complicated. My husband will tell you that I am not an “analyzer,” I’m a “synthesizer,” by which I think he means that I far prefer to connect everything all up together – all my experiences, thoughts, emotions, people, things, places, everything. While other people are great at focusing in on one thing – and are great at getting things done! – my mind is scattered all over the place trying to pull everything together. So one Holy Week, I was so happy to be in Church every day, because I know that only there I can find genuine holiness and beauty. But this time, there were too many words. You know how it is during Holy Week. You barely finish one service, and you are on to the next one, and every service has hymn after hymn after glorious (or, in the case of Holy Week, gloriously heart-wrenching) hymn. So many words, teaching me, exhorting me, drawing my heart one way and another, putting all the images and experiences and words of the disciples and the people of Jerusalem, Judas, and the Lord himself, in front of me to contemplate. It was too much. I simply could not make it all fit. While God knows, and the wisdom of the Church knows how it all synthesizes together, this was utterly beyond me.

At the time I thought this was such a negative thing, but as another Lent comes upon us, I am actually looking forward to it, services and multitudes of words and all. It will be a time to fast – to give up my “need” to put every last puzzle piece in place, to make everything fit. Giving up my need will then lead to the feast of joy that is Pascha, when the whole of creation, down to the darkest corners of the pit of Hades, will see Who it is that is victoriously in charge.

Recently I have learned that it is not we who inherit the Holy Spirit, but the Holy Spirit inherits us. We are grafted in, we are nourished and cultivated by God to bear fruit unto eternal life. It’s His work on us – in us – accustoming us to bear His Spirit as He takes us into Himself. The work of Christ in His Holy Passion and Resurrection from the dead can be no other than the work of the Son of God made man, ascending the Cross, descending to Hades to recover the lost sheep, and then ascending into heaven to bring His creation to the Father. It’s strictly unfathomable, and yet it’s all given to us when we go to Church.

Tracy Gustilo (SVOTS ’13) is an “itinerant” seminarian (she attends St Vladimir’s one semester per year). During the rest of the time she makes her home in Kansas City with husband Nick and four children, where she attends Holy Trinity Orthodox Church.