Holy Friday 2008

On Holy Friday, Dr. Tim and I helped with the teenagers' retreat. (Fr. Peter was at the retreat for the younger children.) I managed to get through my presentation of St. Kassiane pretty well, even including the difficult three-page hymn (that's a short version—long ones can run to 14 pages). My favorite presentation of all the "Personalities of Holy Week" was Dr. Tim's penultimate, personable portrayal of Jesus. (Sorry for the unintended alliteration.)

"Jesus" started by thanking all his friends and saying it was great that they said so many nice things about him. Then he asked people to stand up (meaning the youth, but all the adults participated, too), pair up, and ask one another's forgiveness, the response to which was "May God forgive us both." After this exercise, he started talking about himself, how he was there with God the Father at the beginning of the world, being present at Creation. He spoke fondly of being friends with Adam, and how they would talk together in the evenings—because he, God, had to work during the day. He talked about how he created Eve from Adam's rib—then switched immediately to his earthly ministry as Jesus Christ. He said he kept asking where his friend Adam was, and was horrified to hear that he had died. "Death? What is that?" He explained death as the spirit, the breath God had put into Adam, leaving the body. "The breath that I put there!? I did not create death. I created life!" Then he asked the people where Adam's body was, and heard them say it was under the ground. He paced agitatedly across the floor. "My friend Adam—dead. His body under the earth—I've got to go get him!" He called out the Pharisees and Scribes, excoriating them for using their authority and knowledge of the Law to separate God from His people instead of working to draw them together. Then he enacted his crucifixion, asking God the Father to forgive the people, and calling out to Adam that he was coming.

I'm afraid I don't do Dr. Tim's presentation justice—I was moved to tears, because this is so truly what the Orthodox Church teaches about the Resurrection, which one can see on the festal icon: Christ, like a super hero, his garments flowing and white, stands above the broken bonds of Hell—its gates, keys, and locks—His hands grasp the wrists of Adam and Even who are being pulled from their tombs as the crowds look on: haloed Old Testament Patriarchs on Christ's right and those not marked by haloes on His left.

Not blogging

I used to blog a whole lot (before this blog, even). However, once I became the wife of a clergyman, I felt rather ... exposed. Even if nobody else expected "more" of me, I expected more of me as a presvytera. So I ended up thinking more and blogging less. On the one hand, I miss blogging about every silly thing, but on the other hand, I realized today that I was following the "speak less" idea of the Fathers. Or, in terms of Fr. Thomas Hopko's "Forty Maxims," I'd tried the following:

5. Practice silence, inner and outer.
At least a sort of blogging silence.
17. Never bring unnecessary attention to yourself.
I feel so conspicuous when I blog as a presvytera, which I do whenever I blog. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, since it calls to mind my responsibility to provide a Christian example at all times (still working on that). However, I worry that people will take me too seriously as a presvytera, and not realize that I'm just a normal messed-up person, struggling just the same as they are. (And giving up, and feeling awful about it, and hating to go to confession, too.)
24. Don't complain, grumble, murmur or whine.
I'm still working on this in real life (my poor husband), but I can't complain about anything that happens at church, or anyone I know from there. (Not that there's much in the first place, but that feeling of restraint is definitely there.) Again, I have to think about what kind of example I set, not only for people who read my blog, but what precedent do I set for myself?
25. Don't seek or expect pity or praise.
29. Don't defend or justify yourself.
Oh, the main reason I blog. Attention! So other people will think I'm clever. (I'm usually only funny when I don't mean to be, or if you haven't heard me tell the same dumb joke over a million times.) So people will like me. Any other reasons for wanting attention, even though I'm not worthy of it. Maybe so that I will like me better, even though the only way for people to like me (including myself liking me) is to become a better person.

So I've been trying to change the way I blog. Without getting too high-theology religious (no offense to the seminarian bloggers out there...), and without losing the funny parts of my life, I want to blog about things which happen in such a way that I learn from them, that I become better because of them.

Especially now that I'm getting another kind of hat to wear, with its awesome responsibilities. I am terrified that I will not live up to the expectations I have of motherhood. (It doesn't really help that my mother has four college degrees, and had two jobs when I was growing up, and is more like the Energizer Bunny than a human being (at least, like lazy ol' me) when it comes to getting housework done—or work of any kind, really.)

Pray for me, a sinner.

Cubically

Once upon a time, a man and a woman loved each other very much, so they got married. Then they decided they would like to have a baby to love. So they prayed and prayed. And God said, "Yes."

And that was me!

— adapted from my parents' traditional birthday story, with me piping in at the end

Today was better than I could have imagined. Last night, two neighbors and I went out to dinner. I didn't know I was helping them buy ingredients for my own surprise birthday dinner! I thought I would just be invited over to dinner with the one neighbor. Evidently, she's sneakier than that. There were candles, placemats, napkin-holders, and a half-dozen smiling friends: the most welcoming sight.

Earlier, at Presanctified Liturgy, I was at the chant stand and had the four little girls in front (two of the triplets, a toddler, and one whom I'm convinced is an angel) come up and snuggle up to me out of the blue.

I'm getting to the point where it feels like God took Dn. Virgil away for the week so He could show me the other blessings he has for me. I kinda get distracted being wifely (either accommodating or demanding) when my husband's around.

Well, I was planning on writing my thank-you notes, but what with Ladies' Night Out (which I enjoyed: part one of the Twelve Great Feasts), my sister calling, and talking to Dn. Virgil online, I just have enough time to creep into bed. (And try not to stay up late and read like I've been doing the past couple of nights, using the excuse that my contacts are out so I can't see the numbers on the clock so I can read another chapter even though I know full well that I brought my Lego watch into bed with me so I can see when I should go to bed!)

Dependency

Dn. Virgil is gone to New York this week for a senior trip to the Archdiocese.

Tomorrow, as previously noted, is my birthday. My birthday is forever doomed going to occur in Lent. The past two years he has made me a birthday cake from scratch. Last year's was all crumbly and lumpy, like a chocolate volcano. I was so disappointed to find out I wasn't "allowed" to come on the trip, so disappointed to realize that he was going to be away on "my" day, that I started missing him early. And very emotionally.

I realize that it's over-emotional, but that doesn't mean that I've been able to stop. It's a good thing I have tasks to accomplish to take my mind off the fact that there's a husband-sized hole in my life right now. I am beset with thoughts and images telling me that he'll be in an accident and I'll never see him again, but I don't think those are from God, so I am doing my best to pray hard to dispel these thoughts. I still tear up, like a giant baby, about once an hour at work.

Being at work is good, except that I'm getting to the part of my to-do list that I've been putting off (it's not important, but I should still do it) for a couple of months now. It's a little weird not to be putting out fires, but I'm pretty sure this is only a brief reprieve, so I should make good use of this time. In the evenings, I've been making plans to go to the gym (last night), and go grocery shopping and have dinner with a neighbor (whose husband is also on the trip), and attend the choir rehearsals. There's also quite a bit of administrative stuff for the concert to prepare for: getting a hold of Fr. Alexios for information about St. Mark's and whether he'd be able to say a few words during the concert; getting together with Diana to go over solo pieces; getting binders and music and information to people who need them; and getting the program finalized and printed out. And I need to schedule a confession, always a difficult task. I came too late to chapel last night to find a priest to ask.

Last night, as I was going into the gym, I was chatting with a student coming out. He remarked that my being away from Virgil and missing him so much sounded like another form of fasting. Reading this post on fasting also helped me take a step back and evaluate how what I was feeling was dominating how I thought and what I did.

I have been leaning too hard on my husband. Yes, he can take it, and gracefully, but it's not good for either of us. I look to him for reassurance on everything. This morning, I got up on the third snooze (not the fifth or the sixth, as usual) and was out the door with time to get fuel and still be early to work (not five minutes late, or just barely on time). I even had to make all of my own lunch. I haven't sliced bread in months, much less had to get the loaf out of the machine.

I know comparisons are odious, but I look around at my peers and I see adults: one has a little baby and another on the way* and is going to Ethiopia to see whether their family has a calling to missions; another has a baby with one on the way* and is struggling to cope with being a stay-at-home mother and writer while her husband is gone much of the time; another is expecting,* with her husband gone, and yet extends the hand of friendship to me, inviting me over for dinner tomorrow night. I struggle for half an hour to reply to an email from the last of these, stressed because I have to make decisions about what I will do in the next two evenings, without any feedback from my husband about what I do or how I phrase things in the email.

*I don't mean to say that the only people I admire are pregnant, or that it's all I think about, but I am especially impressed with people who not only have things together to the extent of being able to handle (not just physically) the demands of being responsible for life besides their own, but are expanding in other realms of their lives as well as being gracious and hospitable. Writing out a list of these three, however, has made me realize that God has given them to me as icons, holding out a hopeful picture of the strengths he would like to share with me if I choose to keep working on myself.

Oh, it hurts to grow, but how little and small and ugly I am now! Pray for me, a sinner.

Lent Begins

We have had two services in Lent so far: Forgiveness Vespers last night and Orthros this morning. At the end of the vesperal service, beginning with the priests, deacons, and professors, we asked forgiveness of each other, individually bending down before each icon of Christ, kissing and begging in humble joy.

This morning, as usual, was a struggle to wake up (several times). But in the light of the chapel, each face was reflecting the morning light, many almost haggard-looking. (Or maybe that's just the way I felt so early.) The beauty of last night's calisthenics in the darkened church was brought forward into light, as each person I saw seemed to be even more a representation of Christ ... even the ones I didn't particularly like for one or another trivial reason.

We had a beautiful reflection on chastity given by Dna. Vassi. She said several things I particularly enjoyed, but this one especially: that everything she would say, she hoped we already knew, but perhaps, as she sometimes did, we needed a reminder. So often I find myself tuning things out, because I have convinced myself, "Oh, I already know that" when it may be a lesson I have yet to learn, like the story about the priest who preaches the same sermon Sunday after Sunday—his parishoners get worried: "Father, how long are you going to preach the same sermon?" "Until you listen."

My husband says that today is one of the strict fasting days, and he is planning to not eat until the evening. I am going to try to join him, but my stomach is already rumbling, trying to call my attention (as usual) to myself and what I want. God grant me the grace to continue on my journey to obeying His desires for me.

Forgive me, my brothers and sisters, a sinner.