Second Terrace

The mystic contrast

The day after Thanksgiving ...

On the day after Thanksgiving, while it was still dark and the sun had not yet broken over the eastern hills of LA, a wretched very un-thankful thing occurred. Someone had gotten too impatient, standing in a WalMart line on Black Friday, waiting for a new video game. In that cleverness that comes so quickly to anger, the desperate shopper reached into her purse, took out her can of mace, and began to spray the crowd in front of her with a noxious cloud of pepper dust.

The crowd dispersed, choking. The angry shopper escaped in the mad rush. I can only assume she failed her objective of purchase.

On the same day, in the brightness of a clear afternoon, the late autumn sun shone free on an Orthodox cupola. Beneath its vaulted arches, my wife and daughter and I stared dumbfounded at a heavenly thing of beauty. It was two icons of the Theotokos, holding her Son and Lord.

The sun gleamed, and in its shining we saw, with our own eyes, the welling up of a substance on the surfaces of both icons a substance that could barely be called “oil,” so light it was, so delicate even in sight and even more so to the touch, by our trembling fingers and shuddering lips.

The oil of weeping does not proceed from the substance of the icon. Another priest has said, and I fully agree, that the oil descends from the Hand of God, and settles like manna upon this eschatological object, this icon made by our hands, upon this part of sanctified earth -- the earth we present in our uplifted hearts when we pray, “Thine own of Thine own.”

This oil, whose scent is anticipated (but not comprehended) by roses, is manna on the Sabbath day, in the rest of believers who have come to the mountain.

I looked and beheld, out of the darkness. I touched with my own grasp, into the light. And thus will not deny. I will not minimize, nor can I ignore. I will not explain, for there is nothing that can be scientifically defined. The Lord is at joyful play with our calculations, and will dance above our adult demands for rationalization. He, I think, enjoys our scientific discomfiture.

I told my friend, the priest who is now guardian of these icons that weep, this: “I have a thousand scientific questions, and not a one of them can be answered, and I rejoice that they cannot be.”

We left after kneeling on the floor in tears. We left, singing “Bohorodice D’ivo,” understanding better the greeting sung by Gabriel, who knows how to praise.

We left then, for the road and the remains of the day.

But that day of Thanksgiving will continue to lodge and grow in our memory. It captivates our imaginations, and radiates blessing in our hearts. More and more of our thoughts, and emotions, and intentions, are invaded by this single grace.

My friend will still not call the News. So this miracle may never be reported by the media outlets. Commentators will not comment; pundits will not opine. These weeping icons will not become a trending issue on the net. 

It will thus escape the gravitation of the world, and will fly away from the notice of history, and into legend, where more true things reside than the sensible world would ever think.

It will ascend, like the feather of a dove, into the skyward vaults of hope.

The world, caught in the mace of black fridays, will tally its columns, and will not notice. The world cannot hope, and thus cannot see the Signs.

Inasmuch as the world would not see Him, they will not see His meaning nor His Father, and can not hope.

We, though, on the day after Thanksgiving, said “Surely the Lord is in this place.”

And it is up to us whether that place will descend from a single location in experience, to the more profound substance of our hearts … whether that place will remain in prayer and peace, kindness and eternal memory, and change our mourning into joy.

The weeping of the icons

The icons of the Theotokos are weeping. They are doing so at the churches of two of my priest-friends.

At one place, a young boy noticed the strange gleaming, streaming down the face and robes of the Mother of God, during the Great Entrance. The choir was singing "We who mystically represent the Cherubim ..." My friend heard the shuffling of feet behind him, as one side of the church crossed the aisle, in irresistable wonder, to see better.

At the place of my other friend, the oil cannot be contained, and needs to be soaked up by cotton.

In both places, my friends refuse to publish press releases. In fact, they avoid media attention altogether, rightly fearful of the spectacle that the News would bring. One can only imagine: apparition-seekers, professional skeptics, celebrity-addicts. "Did you hear in one place a man was arrested with paint in his bag?" my friend told me, with no small anxiety. "The man was going to throw it on the miraculous icon, to stop the weeping."

So the news gets out through informal channels, much like the messianic secret, and the attendant miracles, resonate like fire through the networks of family and neighbors. And the people now enter these places with a hush, with aching curiosity, that in this time of doubt there would be something, still, that is obvious, but cannot be figured out.

Of course, the miracle remains despite the comic flesh-and-blood cycle proceeding around it. In both places, hunkiness obtains -- and some of you know exactly what I mean. Despite the pastor's poignant plea to venerate with reverential care, some have rushed to the icon, wiping it childishly with their palm and smearing their faces in a rush. Some have begrudged the amount others have gained, thinking that the blessing can be quantified, measured out, like a cash economy. Some have wondered why the same miracle doesn't happen in their more deserving places, as if God should follow an objective criteria of grace and blessing.

My friend complained that one of his colleagues even wondered, aloud, in front of the laity: "What omen is this? What bad thing is about to occur? Hundreds of icons wept like this in Russia before the Revolution came."

That last remark is not exactly, historically true. But nonetheless, it is a native thing to interpret the supernatural as doom. I have heard this sort of thing frequently. I also hear it in my head.

Signs, first of all, always impend the other-ness of God. Other-ness, especially the numinous sort, is always upsetting, even to the faithful. Familiarity is nice, mainly because it exists wholly within the extrapolations of past experience. Everything familiar is completely predictable, understandable, categorize-able, and -- best of all -- define-able.

Weeping icons are never familiar.

Signs are wild. They haunt the daylight and lurk in dreams. They are heavier and more substantial than the common mass of the world. I think old men dream dreams, and young men see visions, in the before and after and sideways of Signs. 

They are also offensive and scandalous. If these weeping icons are true (and I believe they are), then there are some troubling implications. I would never advocate the scientific observation of or experiementation with them, but consider this "thought experiment." Imagine that one of these weeping icons had been weighed before the onset of the miraclous exuding of the oil. 

Then, after the weeping, collect all the miraculous oil, until the icon is completely dry.

Weigh the oil (or "chrism," or "myron"). Weigh the icon.

The oil will possess an observable, weighable mass.

So will the icon: but the weight of it will not have changed from its "pre-miracle" weight.

Which raises the question: where did the mass of the oil come from?

Indeed, most people presume -- as a "default" presumption -- that the oil somehow seeped from the depths of the wood or the many layers of the icon painting. Surely, some condensation exuded from the "building up" process of icon writing?

And yet, if this experiment would be performed, no such loss of mass would be observed.

There are variables, I'm sure, that may not be so easily observed, and these variables I think are provided by God so that skeptics may not have their sensibilities overthrown so ruinously. Wood in various levels of humidity will absorb water. And, it may be possible that various condensates from the atmosphere, reacting to the surface of the icon, can form as beads of "perspiration."

As I said, I am happy that these "escape" clauses exist for the sake of materialists who God would not want to be so broken.

Yet, I am more than willing to accept the limits of materialist predicates. I am also willing to accept the inadequacy of mathematical and physical laws: Godel's Theorem itself suggests that mathematics cannot sufficiently explain itself. And if it cannot, neither can any science.

So we are left with the icons that weep, and a sign to be accepted or rejected. A sign that is manifested, largely independent of appropriate or boorish behavior. 

It is affected by faith. I know of one instance where a weeping icon was placed on an analogion before the people. But because some were so bitter and unforgiving in the audience, the icon ceased to weep, and only began to manifest the sign again when it was returned to an atmosphere of faith.

I wonder. I wonder why this sign of myrrh-gushing is so substantially linked to the intercessory ministry of the Theotokos, the Mother of God? Is it necessarily "weeping"? Is the Theotokos grieving, like Rachel, for her children sinking into exile? Mourning because her family is so strung out by the pallid mists of the prince of the air?

I wonder, too, how this iconic myrrh-gushing is related to the myrrh-gushing of the relics of the saints -- like the oils of Demetrios and Nicholas, in Thessolonika and Bari? Is there some eschatological mystery? Is there a harbinger of the succession of societies and cultures?

Which I happen to think.

They make me wonder, these icons, with the hair raised on the back of my neck and my skin chilled by the frisson of mysterium tremens: I do not doubt that the Theotokos holds nothing but maternity toward us, and that Christ her Son is Shepherd, Samaritan and Friend.

This I do not doubt: I quickly believe every story of miraculous healing, especially in conjunction with appearance of this miraculous myrrh. One little girl, in a certain place, told her mother during Divine Liturgy that the Theotokos was crying. 

It was the great icon of the Theotokos in the apse above the Altar, in the dome. And the oil was dropping straight onto the floor. The priest collected the oil. After Liturgy, he anointed the girl.

At that hour, the girl was delivered of her cancer, and the weeping ceased.

So I interpret the sign of the icons weeping as Christ caring for His own, but signaling to the world that it is being judged.

This dual meaning is a hard dichotomy for us, for we are asked a question with which the first generations of the Church knew very well. Perhaps successive moments in history, particulary after Constantine, forgot the scandal of the question.

But it would be good to serve it up again.

Look at the weeping icon. She asks this:

"Will you trust Him? The God Who is love, but Who is also terrible?"

Need

The kind of church today that is closest to the first generation of the Apostles’ Church is the medium-size Orthodox Church -- very much like the size of my parish at St. John’s today.

A cathedral or large church beyond 200 people was definitely unlike the experience of the early Christians. That first generation, which was so courageous to the point of frequent martyrdom, could not conceive of a community where everyone was not known … where an absence was not immediately felt … where everyone was needed to carry on the work.

Also, the early church was definitely Orthodox -- no one could have imagined Christianity without the Eucharist, without liturgy, without prayers, bishops and deacons, Scripture and sacraments. In fact, Christianity and Orthodoxy were simply synomous: there was no other sort of Christian.

The reason why I mention this point is that we need to remember that our Orthodox community here at St. John’s is a treasure that should be cherished. Other communities grow and appear to be successful because they cater to entertainment, excitement of passions, and provide a large crowd experience.

These large “mega-churches” have become the standard of worldly Christian success. They also have little, if anything, to do with Apostolic Christianity. There is no Eucharist in those place. There is no continuation of Holy Tradition.

Of course we know that Christianity provides joy and peace in Christ -- something that goes beyond entertainment and excitement.

But I’d like to think more on the appeal of a large crowd experience. Many people prefer to go to a place on Sunday morning where they can attend or be absent as they wish, and no one will miss them. They would like to go where they are not counted on. In fact, some have even said (in a number of surveys): “I don’t want to have the pressure of knowing that I’m needed.”

One survey-taker even wrote: “I like the idea of being anonymous. I like a large crowd so that I can come and go and no one will know.”

I have to say that anonymity is not Christian at all. In the Orthodox Christian Church, you are needed. If present, you are known. If absent, you will be missed. The work of the Church goes on, and your service is essential. We are all the lesser if you do not enter into the year-long work of the Church and serve.

Your service to the Church here at St. John’s is an important part of your salvation. I cannot make it plainer than that. 

Your bringing children to Church School will help them be saved for eternity, and it will help your soul also. 

Your frequent attendance at Divine Liturgy is absolutely necessary for your “deification” -- the Fathers frequently allude to Liturgy as “a moment of deification” in which we grow into the life of Christ.

Your help in the many works of the Church keeps alive the witness of St. John’s that has gone on unbroken since 1919 (and the ecclesial life of Orthodoxy since AD 33). Every time a pirohi is pinched, a nutroll is baked, an offering envelope is put into the plate -- each time, the life of this parish is extended, and you have contributed to the grace that your own heart will receive.

Your service as an Officer or a Trustee helps to lead this Orthodox community -- in our place, and in our time. Your willingness to pray and plan, to serve with humility and unity and piety, and your leadership is closely attached to the service of the early disciples. In leadership, there is a burden, yes, but there is also the sweetness of Christ’s reward in your heart. God will protect and provide -- and you will know this better as you serve Him more.

So it is not only I who ask you to serve: it is really the Lord Himself Who calls you to enter into His service at St. John’s.

Some of you have never been an Officer or Trustee before, or have not done so for a while. It’s time.

Some of you have never sung in the Choir before. The angels and St. Romanus are calling you to join them.

Some of you have been sketchy in getting your kids to Church School. “Train up your child in the way they should go,” Solomon says in Proverbs. Do so.

We all need more prayer, more genuine and gentle Faith. We all need Liturgy every Sunday more than we realize. It is a life or death proposition, yes, but more importantly prayer is so sweet and beautiful, and it is a peace that God offers to us in the midest of a stormy world. Come, every Sunday.

Bring your family. Bring your friends. Encourage them, because the world is at war with faith, and the devil knows how to make going to the Orthodox Church very hard indeed. Fight and resist him -- and, as St. James says, “he will flee you.”

I need you. The Body of Christ needs you. Your departed loved ones pray for you to enter more closely into Orthodox life: they need you.

Our work in Orthodoxy is nothing less than a brotherhood and a sisterhood. 

Thus, there is no anonymity here. You are necessary.

Let us rejoice in the Lord, and enjoy His peace.

And we can only do this together.

Resplendent

 

Well, since I was bamboozled by a viral-artist (undoubtedly wearing pajamas and headphones, stained with the fluorescent orange dust of cheese curls) with the toxins of Rihanna recently, I thought I'd balance things out with real stuff, the stuff of timely beauty.

A hat tip to my brother Ben for reminding me about Bill Mallonee, who he saw recently in Ohio singing solo. This link is to one of his better-known numbers (the backup vocals are happily provided by the great Emmylou Harris).

Mallonee is a fan of Wendell Berry and Walker Percy: need you know more?

I like this stuff: a little offbeat, melodic, kinda prophetic (and poetic). I know I sound like a broken record-player here. We all need to get off the beaten path and hike up on the alternate, harder trails that go to the better views. 

Because if we stick to the beaten path -- you know, the wide and easy way -- we'll get sort of ... well, beaten. 

For the arts, let's all get choosier, more substantial, addicted to real (not academic) beauty.

For Scripture, I suggest a focus on the Prophets in general, Isaiah in particular (Jeremiah too). 

Beauty in a time of craziness.

Some Halloween observations: notes toward a new guide for the perplexed

These are a few observations culled from the last month, in which a poignant juxtaposition occurred. Two events crossed like a conjunction of planets.

The first is the dreary and ongoing decline of the Great Suburban Mall called "Western Civilization" -- a term that is becoming more oxymoronic with every Wall Street Punch-and-Judy show (aka "sell-off's").

The second is the happy marriage of my daughter to my son-in-law. This Orthodox wedding was a splendid crowning, and grows brighter and deeper with memory -- as memory ages, and becomes more substantial, like a good port in cask.

This past New Calendar Halloween, I was visited by the revenants of Boethius and Maimonides, who were peeved that I was complaining about being perplexed by these opposite feelings. "These are shallow emotions," Boethius sniffed testily, "and are not worthy of the terms 'joy' nor 'melancholy.'" 

Maimonides simply muttered, under the hirsute shrouds of his ghostly beard, "You are not intelligent enough to be perplexed."

So they left in a huff, without giving any help for our miasma. "Philistines," I heard them grunt in unison. "Philosophy is impossible for this generation."

So, left by myself and stretched (or, rather, seasoned) by the good tension of two gravitational poles, one begins to wonder aloud. As is my wont on these phosphorescent pages, I would rather set down lists of thoughts, for now, than publish long essays that I would never read again in full.

First observation: Civil unrest follows upon wealth disparity. Notice that I do not confine "civil unrest" to specific activities like "Occupy Wallstreet" or whatever might happen at the governor's mansion in Ohio. Note also that I am neither endorsing or condemning unrest. Certainly, I condemn all violence and destruction: but aye, there's the rub, because I notice sinful violence and destruction all around -- and certainly not just at the hands of the marxist-benighted poor. The Philistines, more often than not, are disproportionately represented by the one percent.

First corollary to the first observation: Some wags recently have suggested that the ninety-nine percent in America are actually subsumed by the one percent of the world population. Yes, I have heard this before, that most of the poor in America are actually rich by Third World standards. This is undoubtedly true: but saying this is a red herring in the argument at hand. Whether we like it or not, the Old Testament prophets (along with New Testament prophets like James, the Theotokos, and, maybe, Someone Even Bigger) never once talked about wealth disparities in a worldwide or even cross-cultural context. I am sure that Christians should care about the poor in the Third World. But the argument for this concern is implicit in Holy Tradition. What is rather explicit is the argument for helping the poor in one's own land. And "poor" in Holy Tradition means "the neighbor who is poorer than you." 

Second corollary to the first observation: The Church has always either commanded or demanded that employers (or masters or bosses or lords of the manor) take more care of their employees than to treat them as mere parts of the money-mimeograph-machine. Say what you'd like of Ayn Rand's economic brilliance, or that of other marketplace antichrists: but the Church has never lost sight of the fact that the care of employees must go beyond a marketplace valuation that is eked out in minimal wages. I just wish someone in the Church would have the guts to say that not only are abortion and homosexual marriage sins, so also is the moving of factories from American communities to cheaper labor markets. I'm sorry, but if you do this, God will wither your business. It is happening now. If you pollute the earth, time will destroy you. It is happening now. If you steal money from the middle class, as was done during the Wall Street bailouts, your precious wealth-protection programmes you thought were safe will collapse soon under the sticky webs of sophisticated financial derivations. It is happening now.

He that has ears and all that ...

Atlas has indeed shrugged: and the first welfare-moochers who are falling off are the one percent who quote that eponymous rot.

Second observation: Perplexity is mystification, and it is deliberate. There are bullies, to be sure, who do the mystifying and perplexing. But there are less true victims than you would think -- for mystification usually requires a willingness to be mystified for the procedure to work. Perplexity is suffered, more times than not, by those who were lazy enough to become perplexed. This wretched state of affairs is true for my case, at least. There are many opiates for the masses, but true religion (contra Marx) is not one of them.

First corollary to the second observation: We are surrounded by false dichotomies -- which seem to be the sina qua non rhetorical device of this current programme of mystification. Here are a few such wretched chiasms:

• ethnic whatever (fill in the blank with Russian, Greek, Carpatho-Rusin, Serbian, Syrian, Rumanian, Bulgarian) versus american (or "convert")
• ethnic + mainline accomodationist versus american + convert + tea party + conservative traditionalist + rightwing wallstreet brownshirt
• academic + mystical + Sherrard-quoting versus fundamentalist + pietist + Seraphim Rose-quoting
• environmental + civil-rights concerned + economic justice versus traditional morality (e.g., anti-abortion; pro-traditional-family 

I am bone-tired of the "cradle" versus "convert" dichotomy: such talk is nothing but gas, as Orthodox Christians can only be everyday converts, and we are all but infants in cradles, in the tree-tops, always in danger of "when the bough breaks."

The foolishness of these dichotomies lay mainly in the tawdry logic behind the clumping of disparate groups on either side of the false chiasma. Traditional moralists do not belong with the right wing, or with the cheerleaders for the industrial destroyers of the natural family and the natural world. The interests of hyper-financialists who move factories and get giddy about globalization are really served by mainline accomodationists, not us "illiberal" conservatives who cannot bring ourselves to sign off on evolutionary doctrine. Abortion and the destruction of the natural family, and the wholesale rejection of natural law, make money for those who feed on the bottom-line.

Third observation: Passion is communicated far more rapidly and efficiently than is virtue. There are some more factors to be noted. The stupider the passion, the more quickly it is communicated. Lust, for example, goes faster than pride, and gluttony takes first place at the finish line. Another factor: the more modern and/or technological the communication, the harder it is for virtue to make itself known. True speech is completely eclipsed by the blather of commercials, which are all lies and false witness. Love requires nothing less than than the hard primitive work of craft, husbandry and Eucharist: social networking cannot handle love.

First corollary to the third observation: It is easy to assemble a mob via facebook. It is impossible to displace the marketplace gods online. Revolution is as simple as lighting a match to a pool of gas. A virtuous State requires virtuous and intelligent people, who have trained themselves against passion.

Second corollary to the third observation: The communication of passion via the dendrite-reverberating internet (think of the vibrating tissue-glob-mass of IT on Camazotz) is better than pectin in a bacteria-petri-dish for fertilizing the self-labeled mutations that use gruesomely ironic terms like "accountability" and "orthodox" and "news" and "voices from wherever." My God, how shrill we've become, and so pedestrian. Listening to conference broadcasts on AFR is an affliction straight from the repertoire of the Famous Farting Demons of the Fifth Ditch of the Malbolges: I had hoped I had left conference-speech (a dialect of newspeak) behind, once and for all, when I said ta-ta to the commission-addicted protestants back in 1991. Now it's here, writhing amongst us: maybe this mass psychosis, this schizophrenic-clanging linguistic deformation is concomitant with self-demanded self-rule? I wonder.

It has also produced diversions (i.e., gamboling) that are much more fun: I've been called a "convertski" in one rather misbegotten photon-matrix -- which is patently funny, so to speak, as I was somewhat responsible for some of the most ethnic and old country speeches of one so lately beloved by the same voice that holds no small dudgeon for the convertski class. "That is where you make your bloomer," I'd like to say to some Orthotic voices that spasm regularly on the cyber-waves, "Why serious rift? Why dickens?": I quote Bertie Wooster here, of course -- a worthier and more rewarding voice than many in the churchy bloggo-twit-facebook-googlo-universe.

Fancy that: Bertie Wooster sounds better, and is far more courteous, than a lot of webspace in the Orthodox cyber-conversation. And I'll throw in the Roman Catholic and Byzantine crowd to boot.

Fourth observation: At no time in history was the Church ever responsible for providing services to the poor, as a segment of the population. The Church has always taken care of its membership that needed help. The Church has frequently offered food, healthcare, education and shelter to the poor -- even to those outside its fellowship: the Artoclasia at the Lity took place in the vestibule, so that the hundreds of loaves could be soon distributed to the waiting poor. But the Church has never taken the place of the State in providing welfare to the poor as a population. It cannot do this, and to suppose otherwise is to spout immoral cynical drivel. Only the State can operate a safety net: if you want one (as I do), then you'll have to abide by a State program. No amount of Church or community adhoc assistance is going to be able to do what only the State can do. 

First corollary to the fourth observation: If someone says something like, "Let the Church take over welfare like it did in the old days," then that someone hasn't a clue about the old days, or the reality of the Church. Moreover, that someone would rather engage in absurd arguments to cynically advance his own bombast for the sake of ratings.

Second corollary to the fourth observation: Most Christians would be better off not listening to call-in shows. The Brady Bunch is comparatively more enlightening and edifying.

Fifth observation: We are groaning, like creation, for the manifestations of the sons of God. For our part, we are waiting for a deified episcopacy, as St. Dionysios the Areopagite, somewhere, suggested must be for the life of the Church. The episcopacy must be deified, the priesthood illuminued, and the diaconate purified. Insofar as this is not the case, then the gates of Hades will look insurmountable, and disorder will obtain.

First corollary to the fifth observation: If Christ is the substance of the Church, then prayer is the Church's only condition: prayer, that is, formed by Tradition and Dogma. Programs and strategies, objectives and missions are really terms that belong to the agora, and are thus even more antitethical to the Church than are terms that proceed from the State. In the very modern act of transitioning from such political structures like bylaws and constitutions to commercial structures like mission statements and marketing analyses and strategies, we are now more condemned than are those who preach civil religion and sprinkle holy water on nuclear missiles.

Second corollary to the fifth observation: No one, outside the fullness of Orthodoxy, is competent to evaluate or rehabilitate an Orthodox clergy. And anyone who is to administer psychotherapy to a bishop must be one like St. Silouan, or the Elder Nikodim of Karoulia. To subject a bishop to the worldly authority of a psychiatric treatment facility is an act that offends Apostolic Succession, no less. Either remove a bishop from his cathedra, or repent (which is a far, far more likely event). Either way, do not send him for psychological testing that will tell you only what you already think you know; and do not send him to counseling to test if he is cooperative and will promise to do what you say. If you do this, you have done what even David feared to do, when he found Saul sleeping in a cave. Gospodi pomiluj.

Sixth observation: Life in the Church is meaningful insofar at it coheres to the model of the Theotokos. The dreary, tragicomic repetitious history of apostasy is characterized mainly by attempts to live otherwise. We try to live more conveniently, more modernly, more secularly, more amenable to the "cultured despisers" of the Church. More democratically -- so that, mayhaps, the benefactors will feel as though they were "stakeholders," and thus more obliged to part with their largesse. So phobic we are, over the centuries, of falling back into the penury of having to say "Silver or gold have I none."

The Magnificat reveals a transcendent disregard of property and governmental involvement. Who really cares that the federal (or state, or municipal) government pays us little mind? Pilate said, obtusely, "What is Truth?" not really as a question, but as an "a-christological" axiom, heedless of the Answer standing before him. I have no shyness about speaking in the public square, but I need no institutional position: neither does Jesus, Mary or Joseph.

First corollary to the sixth observation: Conciliarity is predicated only upon repentance, theoria and communion. Councils and conventions are not the same: there is no linguistic congruence, only accidents and coincidences -- signs, that is, that Providence works despite our contrary intentions. After all, the great evidence for the authenticity of Orthodoxy lies neatly in the fact that Orthodoxy has survived its people ... you and me. The greatest fear about a new Holy Council is that it will be too much like a conference, and not enough about theoria.

Second corollary to the sixth observation: The only thing that can be planned is ascesis. Charisma cannot be packaged into budgets and strategies, initiatives or programs. David learned the hard way that he should not take a census, neither should he pay a farmer to haul the Ark of the Covenant on an oxcart. We are proving, morosely, that history repeats itself through wilful ignorance of these stories. Only ascesis can be planned: I suppose even James would permit saying, "If the Lord tarries, we want to be praying this time next year."

Third corollary to the sixth observation: What did the Theotokos do in the Church of her Son, until her Dormition? There's a goal.

Seventh, and last, observation: God adds to the Church those who are being saved. And so, in history the Church goes through times of expansion and apparent contraction. The growth of the Church is a sign: it cannot be an objective. You and I probably ought to make peace with the melancholic fact that the wider culture is making it more and more difficult to be Orthodox. Too many people are not growing up. Too many people do not care for truth, justice or beauty. 

The first corollary:

No one will say this at conferences and conventions, or at retreats that take place at resorts instead of monasteries. I really doubt if a commission will mention this in their annual report: after all, commissions cannot speak English. 

So let me spit it out.

Judgment begins in the house of the Lord.

And since time brooks no falsehood, it seems that as time goes on, that which is not true in the Orthodox community will fall away. The birds will come and eat up the seeds. The quickly sprouting saplings, rootless, will fade in the heat. The weeds of lust and avarice, gluttony and pride will choke off the fruit.

Look around you. This is happening. Here, now.

The second corollaries:

What to do?

"Bind up the testimonies," Isaiah said to his community in a similar moment. Now is the time for prayer and fasting, for this kind of demon cannot be bidden to leave otherwise.

Now is the time for love and mercy in your family, your neighborhood and your church.

Now is the time to be winsome and childlike.

Now is the time for gentle speech, wisdom and trust.

Now is the time to say you have absolutely no idea how the future will pan out, and what exactly you and the church will be doing next year: "whereas you do not know about tomorrow -- what is your life?" (James 4.14).

Now is the time to protect the weak and to care for the broken earth.

Now is the time to care for the little things, and to eschew the great opportunities.

Now is the time to leave off theological speculation and ecclesial reorganization, and do the simple things of repentance and thanksgiving.

Now is the time to be poetic, and prophetic ...

... and to learn what peace is so you have some of it to give away.

"Hmmmm." I didn't know he was looking over my shoulder. He was alone. The cranky, but great, eagle had gone his own way.

"It is much like I felt years ago. Permit me to quote myself."

He drew himself up in a fine rhetorical posture, and read from memory: "Her dress was a miracle of fine cloth and meticulous workmanship, and, as I later learned, she had woven it herself. But it had darkened like a smoke-blackened family statue in the atrium as if through neglect and was dingy and worn ... Some ruffians had done violence to her elegant dress, and clearly bits of the fabric had been torn away."

"She still stands. Try as we like to pull down the seven pillars, her house remains."