Quails on the Road to Emmaus

Last week during rehearsals with the 77s, I happened to be in the room while Mike and David worked on God Sends Quails. I hadn't heard it for a long time and I commented to Mike that the lyrics were really more meaningful to me today than they were 15 years ago (or so) when he wrote it. He agreed. One line in particular, You failed. . .you picked the right time to fail. . .got your past behind you. . .got your future in front of you" struck me hard. Then. . .just now, my wife sent me the following snippet from an Orthodox Journal called Road To Emmaus. It's on this same general theme and so well-put that I've decided to copy it into my blog. I apologize for such a long blog entry. . .but I really think it is worth taking the time to read.

If you want more of the interview with Fr. Artemy, go to Fr. Artemy interview. If you'd like to check the Journal out, go to Road To Emmaus.

RtE: Fr. Artemy, there are not many of us who lived through the second half of this century unscathed by false beliefs, moral falls, or materialism. In the West, much of this came to us under the guise of "spirituality." Those of us who found Orthodoxy are particularly grateful, in a way that we wouldn't be perhaps if we hadn't first experienced the barrenness of these wrong paths, and our sense of the Lord's patience and compassion is even greater because of our mistakes. Even so, we look back and grieve over lost years and lost opportunities. Can you say something about this?

Fr. Artemy: St. Anthony the Great says that we are never to grieve over our lost years, but are to be grateful to God. We shouldn't even admit this bitter sorrow over the past into our hearts because one can easily be bitten by unfruitful remorse. It can also lead to rebuking God with some bold questions; "What for? Why did you allow...?" This is a crime because it isn't God who is guilty. It was God who had patience with us, who didn't allow the evil to swallow us but kept us from perishing in our sins.

Perhaps modern people are so proud, and their feelings of self-dignity and egotism are so enormous that the only way to humility is to feel ourselves as repenting harlots and tax-collectors. We know from the New Testament that the proud Pharisees were not accepted by Jesus Christ, Who told them, Go ye and learn what that meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. The most important thing in the mystery of our salvation is humility. If you have humility you have everything. As St. David says in the Psalms, the Lord is nigh unto them with a contrite heart; and saveth the humble of spirit. Even if you find yourself in the golden garments of an archbishop, if you don't have humility you haven't anything. Perhaps the only way for a modern man, crazed by inner pride, to come to humility is to be crushed by life, to be cut into pieces by his sins, and to understand that he hasn't any strength to live without God. Our ancestors were like birds who soared to our Lord; now we must crawl to Him.

It is very important for us to know that although we are like demons in our crimes, unlike demons we are able to repent and God will save us. All of the tragedies and pain of modern life is to teach us that we are weak, that we are very poor, and that our Heavenly Father is the One, and only One, who can save us. The moment you feel yourself to be a repenting harlot or tax-collector, sitting near the feet of your Lord--Who absolves your sins, Who doesn't reject you when you cover His feet with your bitter tears of repentance, Who allows you to dry His feet with your hair, and Who loves you, forgives you, and is ready to forget all of your filthiness, you feel yourself to be a child again. You feel God miraculously healing you. He takes away your cynicism and cruelty and releases you from the nightmare of disbelief, arrogance, and despair. He gives you back inner light, peace, consolation, joy, prudence, wisdom, the strength to resist evil. Then, you begin to understand the supra-rational mystery of real Christianity and the spiritual meaning of His words, I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance... They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick... for the Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost. These words are beyond the rational; they can't be understood by the proud.

Big Versions of Ourselves

What is vulgarity and/or coarseness a replacement for? It seems to be a surrogate for authentic emotional connection. Or perhaps an indication of our lack of courage to really be ourselves with one another. It is certainly a poverty of spirit. I'm beginning to think that when vulgarity takes over a culture (or person) it indicates the culture (or person) is starving to death in some way. It's a ritual that expresses a collective loss of spiritual and emotional nourishment. Love is meat and potatoes. . .vulgarity is sugar. It takes a lot of courage and skill to avoid vulgarity and to be emotionally sober and loving in our culture. I'm not talking about being all sour and drawn-up inside. . .I'm talking about emotional and spiritual health. . .the expansiveness of spirit of a "Mother Teresa" as opposed to the withered and barren soul of a "(put your fave celebrity and/or politician here)". But I'm not bashing celebs or politicians. . .they are just big versions of ourselves. In fact, maybe their real purpose in the overall scheme of things is to simply help us see ourselves better. Yikes!

Thank You!

I don't have time to write much or be very reflective at the moment. . .Mark and his family (Cindy, Ana, and Dylan) drove from Eugene to Portland with my wife and I yesterday to spend a couple days with us. So I don't want to spend any time on the computer. HOWEVER, I do want to thank Linda for putting this show together. She did a ton of work, took all the financial risk, and made it happen. Hats off to her. AND I want to thank all the fans who came to the show, or who prayed for us while staying at home. I don't get a chance to perform that much, but I can tell you that when a crowd is friendly (like you guys) it makes all the difference in the worlds. Whatever good we gave was pulled out of us by your love and support and we appreciate it very much. It was a memorable night for us. Here's a few pics that whoever had my camera took of the show. . .


You Guys


Us Guys


David


Mark


Bill

Nevada City Birthday Party

We played tonight at a backyard birthday party in Nevada City. It was a lot a fun. They had done an outstanding job preparing everything. . .great sound system, good food, and about 80-100 people. This was a birthday present from a wife to a husband, since the 77s are one of his favorite bands. The birthday boy got to come up and sing a verse on one of the 77s tunes (The Lust, the Flesh, the Eyes and the Pride of Life) and everyone gave him a standing ovation. I don't know the guy. . .but he must be doing something right to have his wife and friends love him that much. It was very sweet and surprisingly emotional. Here's some pics from the night:


Nice backyard, huh?


And a pretty good crowd too


The Strawmen


The 77s

Brownies

Long day. . .hot day. . .tired, sweaty, and happy. We heard today that it's going to be 100 degrees in Eugene on Saturday and WOW Hall doesn't have air conditioning. . .so I guess rehearsing in this heat is good prep. One more day and we're there. Here's a few more pics. That brownie that Dave's munching was made by Ana Harmon, Mark's daughter. I don't think she was counting on us scarfing them all up so quickly. God bless her. . .they were yummy. Thanks Ana!


Mike's pouting because Dave won't share


Mark trying to find the right "virtual Bruce"


Trying to remember the words


Working out the kinks

A Good Teacher

I've been thinking about emotional connection a lot lately. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, I've always had trouble with relationships. Specifically, it seems that maintaining a relationship and keeping it healthy is where I have the most trouble. During the beginning phase, when I'm getting to know someone else and that someone else is getting to know me it seems easy. . .exciting even. But when the initial self-disclosure phase starts waning, things get more difficult. I'm not generalizing. . .this is simply my experience. My normal practice has been to beat myself up in a ridiculous attempt to atone for my emotional remoteness. But it doesn't help the other person, the relationship, or me when I do that. That is one thing I have learned, but it is a difficult habit to leave behind.

However, knowing what not to do is less than half the answer. It's the "knowing what to do" that is the more important part and that is still a bit of a mystery to me. I have found great help in the spiritual disciplines given me by the Orthodox Church. . .things such as fasting, prayer, and the sacraments, especially holy Communion. Even if you're not a Christian or don't believe that Christ is mysteriously present in the bread and wine, you have to admit this ritual tells you a lot about the essence of Christianity. . .being connected to God is everything to us. Also, someone recently pointed out to me that it is the consistency of these practices that is the key to remaining connected with God. Somehow I've got to learn similar ways of remaining consistently and emotionally connected to my wife, my children (who are grown), my relatives, my friends, my priest, etc., etc. I see it happening, but it's a little humiliating to be such a slow learner. No worries. . .I've got a good Teacher.

Here's a couple more pics of rehearsals. . .one of the obvious reasons I'm thinking of connection is because of being here and working with Mark, David, Mike, and Bruce. Being in a band requires good emotional connection. . .otherwise the music, regardless of how well written or performed, is vacuous. In addition to working on the music, we're working on our relationshis as well. Nothing heavy, we're just enjoying being with each other, hanging out, and talking about things prosaic and Divine. It is all good.


Brothers at work


Dave gettin' all learned up on the 77s set

Reunion Rehearsals

The 77s started rehearsing for the show on Sunday, the day before Dave and I got in town. David and I got together Monday night to go over all the tunes and make sure we had the same chord charts in our heads, while the 77s put another night into their stuff. Then yesterday (Tuesday) Mike, David, and I worked all afternoon on the Strawmen setlist, mainly so Mike could re-familiarize himself with the material and work out who plays what between him and David. Then we got together last night with Mark and Bruce for our first full-band rehearsal. It was great. Besides being a family reunion, things went better than any of us had anticipated. It sure helps having the 77s in your band. Here's a few pics:


Packing to leave for Sacramento


Dave warming up at Mark's studio


Mike getting comfortable at Mark's studio


Mark unloading before the full band rehearsal.


Mike and Dave cleaning up after rehearsal


Bruce fixing the blinds after rehearsal. . .yes, we blew them down.

Off to Rehearsal

I leave in about 4 hours for Sacramento to spend the week rehearsing with The Strawmen for this Saturday's show in Eugene.  I'm sure it's going to be a very full week and I thought it would be fun to try and capture something of the experience in this blog.  I'm taking my camera, so I'll do my best to take some snaps and make some entries to let everyone know how it's going.  I know you're all very interested :-). We're pretty excited about it.  Not only do I get to play music, which is something I love. . .I get to do it with my brother and other friends who feel like brothers to me.  We've all known each other a long time and have been through "stuff" together.  Oddly enough, it's the "stuff" that cements relationships.  I'm just now starting to realize that and accept it a little more graciously.  I could lament the fact that it's taken me so long to grow up and realize basic facts about life like this. . .but I'm just grateful it's happening this side of the grave.

Write to Life?

Many of the songs I write have to do with problems in relationships and the difficulty of communicating. . .which by definition is a relationship issue.  I seemed obsessed with the idea.  Relationships have always been struggles for me and I used to think that writing about them would help.  But time and experience have given me cause to question that assumption.  At least it isn't apparent to me whether writing has actually helped me be a better husband, father, son, co-worker, parishioner, etc.  But still I write.  I'm compelled to and judging from the hundreds of thousands of blogs out there. . .I'm not alone.  Writing does seem to help something.  But what exactly?  Is it simply the necessary first step for rational beings?  That is, do we have to struggle with concepts and our symbols for concepts (words, pictures, hieroglyphics, etc.) before we can actually change behavior?  It seems that's just the way we are designed, so there's nothing wrong about struggling to understand and writing. In that sense, writing simply demonstrates understanding.  So maybe the trouble is that we allow ourselves to be satisfied with simply understanding how to be a better person.  That is, we succumb to the tempation that having written about something is equivalent to actually living it.  But we all know, in our better moments, that's not true.  If I don't live as well as I write. . .which I don't. . . then I'm a hypocrite.  And no one likes being called a hypocrite.  Conversely, if I don't write as well as I live. . .well, that doesn't matter much at all. 

Life After Death

Do you believe in life after death? I can't ever remember not believing in life after death, but some days I believe it more than others. Take yesterday for example. It was the so-called Patronal Feast Day for our parish which is dedicated to the Holy Apostles. For those not familiar with Orthodox traditions, this means our parish has special prayer services on the evening before the feast day (Vigil service) and a Divine Liturgy on the feast day itself in honor of the 12 Holy Apostles (Judas Iscariot being replaced by Matthias) of Christ. Usually, a few people from other parishes join us for prayers as a way of honoring the Patrons of our Parish. On Monday night, after the Vigil service concluded, I overheard a visitor comment, "If that (i.e. the Vigil service we had just concluded) doesn't get the Holy Apostle's attention, I don't know what will." That statement jolted me a little. Even though I believe in life after death. . .even though I believe the Holy Apostles pray for our little parish. . .it still shocks me a little to speak of it so matter-of-factly. Yet, what he said registered. I sensed that what he had said was true.

Now. . .jump forward about 12 hours. We had our Divine Liturgy early in the morning, and afterwards I was rushing to work. "Rushing" is the correct word, since about 2 miles from work, a policeman pulled me over for speeding. As he walked up behind the car I reached over to get the registration and proof-of-insurance and sighed. I rolled the window down expecting to hear, "Please show me your license and registration." Instead, I heard, "Just slow down for me, OK? You look like you're enjoying your morning, but I was doing 70 and you were pulling away from me! So, just slow down a little, OK?" That was it. No ticket, no lecture. Just a very pleasant warning to slow down. As I rolled up my window, and pulled out into traffic I got a little choked up. Not just because I hadn't gotten a ticket. Of course that was nice. . .but the thing that choked me up was the distinct impression that the Holy Apostles had just interceded for me in heaven. Something they said or did in heaven made a difference in my life on earth. They blessed me. In honor of their feast day, they blessed me. Stuff like that is what builds faith.

Why Seek the Living Among the Dead?

There's a line that tends to come up a lot in hymns celebrating the Resurrection of Christ in the Orthodox Church. Like most things Orthodox, it comes directly from the scriptures. It's something the Angel that was at the tomb of the risen Christ said to the myrhh-bearing women who came early on that first Easter morning to anoint the Lord's body. To their surprise, He wasn't there. But an Angel was, who asked them, "Why do you seek the living among the dead?" I've sung that line hundreds of times since coming into the Church, but last Saturday night it jumped off the page. It was as if I was being addressed rather than the myrhh-bearers. "Why do you seek the living among the dead?" I'm not sure of all the ramifications of that question to me, but many things popped into my head all at once. Why do I try to find peace in things that agitate me? Why do I try to find contentment in things that inflame me? Why do I try to find sweetness in things that are bitter? I don't know, exactly. Like the myrhh-bearers, I tend to assume death has the upper-hand over everything. In a way, I've grown so accustomed to death that I find life a little difficult to believe in. But believing in death is the same as believing in nothing, and there's no future in that.

That's the Truth

I've learned more about being a son by being a father than I ever learned by being a son. One of my children in particular taught me. He taught me how to disagree, without feeling the need to run away. He taught me how to obey, without feeling the need to rebel. He taught me how to be respectful, without feeling the need to disrespect himself. We struggled with each other for years before we discovered how to live with each other in peace. Really, all we did was to resist the temptation to give up on one another. God did everything else. That's the truth.

Review of "Saving Faded Dreams"

The Strawmen record, Saving Faded Dreams, finally got its first thorough review, nearly a year after it's release. Being an independent release (read "no budget") it's taken a while for the record to build up a little momentum in the marketplace. Gary Glauber wrote the review and it is posted at the FUFKIN (scroll to the bottom) website if you'd like to read what he wrote. I really appreciate Gary taking the time to listen critically and write about the record. It is an even-handed and fair review. . .I don't agree with everything he wrote but that hardly matters. I'm just tickled that someone took our effort seriously enough to write a critical review. We (the Band) took the writing and recording very seriously. . .so it is gratifying when someone else does as well.

Mumbled Prayers

You know that slightly disoriented feeling you get when you wake up from a mid-day nap? It's like you're seeing things through some sort of prism that scatters the light and distorts things just enough to make it hard to tell exactly what your looking at. Familiar things seem a little strange. You can get the same effect by repeating a very familiar word, like "mothball" a hundred times. . .eventually "mothball" loses its' familiarity and starts to sound weird. Well, every once in a while, this happens to me without the benefit of a nap. Perhaps medication would help, but somehow I don't think so. I've noticed it happens mostly when I'm not particularly engaged in some sort of activity. . .if I'm just in idle mode. Actually, even being distracted by various amusements also wards off this disorientation, or at least makes it less noticeable. Most recently it happened to me last Sunday afternoon. That's usually a quiet time for me. . .but this past Sunday the disorientation came with a certain vengeance. I have no idea why, but it was very disconcerting. I remember looking at the birds, trees, our cat, our apartment. . .and it all seemed so foreign and without meaning. I admit it scared me a little. . .like I was losing grip on something very fundamental. I found myself groping around inside for something to stop this from becoming a slide into despondency and eventually mumbled, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me." In the circles I travel in, this is the so-called "Jesus prayer", and part of its' usefulness is that it is short enough for a memory-challenged person like me to remember. It didn't "work" like some sort of magic. The disorientation and sudden loss of meaning didn't immediately abate. . .but it eventually did. Perhaps it would have anyway, but the prayer almost immediately made me feel "at home" in a very strange universe. I'm grateful someone taught me this prayer somewhere along the way. I'm grateful God is merciful because otherwise, the prayer would be useless.

The Vanity That Inevitably Accompanies All Artists

I recently put a link to Valaam Monastery on my blog. In case you haven't noticed it, I've decided to quote from the website to encourage you to go check it out. It speaks for itself:

Monk Savvaty doesn't lash himself or wrap ropes around his body. Nor does he kneel for hours on a hard floor to tame his passions. His penance at the Valaam Monastery is different: He takes photographs.

Savvaty, [alias Sergei Sevastyanov], was already an experienced photographer when he decided to leave the senseless fuss of secular life and become a monk six years ago. While most monks are encouraged to leave their secular occupation behind, Savvaty was blessed by the monastery elders to continue his work with photography.

"Usually, as we [become monks] we denounce everything we did before, but I dragged my entire life along with me into the monastery," Savvaty said at the Union of Journalists' Photo Center, where his first personal exhibit opened last week.

A middle-aged bearded man in a long black robe who does not like to talk about his life before Valaam, an island monastery on northwest Russia's Lake Ladoga, Savvaty looked on with amusement as the artsy crowd in the hall mixed with priests and church-going women. Visitors sipped holy water from plastic glasses - the evening's substitute for the more traditional champagne.

"Art is passion, but I have to fight passion. Art has become my penance," Savvaty said.

"God grants everyone a talent, and it's a sin to bury this talent," said the head of the monastery, Archimandrite Pankraty, who gave Savvaty his blessing to continue with photography. Although Pankraty agreed that photography is an unusual penance for a monk, he said he was certain from the beginning that Savvaty would be able to "overcome the vanity that inevitably accompanies all artists."

Perhaps you noticed I also put a link to Christopher Burkett's website on my blog as well. Christopher is an Orthodox laymen and amazing photographer. He attends a nearby Orthodox Church. I've only recently discovered his photography, so I've never had a chance to talk to him about it. The title of this post certainly does not apply to him because he's about the most unassuming man you're ever likely to meet. I was shocked when I found out how "famous" he is in some circles. I was introduced to his work via a video tape he's made about his approach to photography. Like all visual artists I suppose, his giftedness is in his eyes. He sees stuff I don't. He's worked hard over the years to perfect his craft so that he can capture what he sees on film and print it with astounding clarity. I'm not sure what impresses me the most about him. . .his vision or his work ethic. Both are needed to do what he does. I'm not sure the website does his work justice. . .if you ever get a chance to see one of his books, take the time to look.

The Shadows

The Gospel reading on Sunday was Matthew 8:28-9:1. It's the story of Jesus healing two demoniacs, giving permission to the expelled demons to enter a herd of swine, and the swine running into the sea and drowning. That's all pretty dramatic, but the primary drama takes place right after this, when the people of the Gergesenes ask Jesus to leave. Every time this reading comes up in the lectionary, our priest underscores this tragedy. That is, the tragedy of these people asking Christ to leave. That's a new emphasis for me. Especially before becoming Orthodox, I always focused on the swine killing themselves. I thought this was some sort of vivid illustration of the chaos and destruction brought about by demons. Maybe there is an element of truth in that, but this morning I began to see something a little more diabolic. Perhaps the demons simply wanted to enter the swine and destroy them in order to cause financial suffering for their owners. Perhaps it goes even further than this. Perhaps their real motive was to overshadow the healing of two demoniacs by creating a financial crisis which coincided with the healing. By so doing, they could implicate Jesus in the financial disaster and sour the locals on Him. That feels very familiar to me. It's like there's this invisible, spiritual battle going on that casts visible shadows in the material world. We have to be really careful of the conclusions we draw based on the shadows we can see, because shadows lack dimension and detail. Even the story preceding this one in Matthew's Gospel is on the same theme. The disciples climb into a boat with Jesus, and what happens? A raging storm blows up and threatens to capsize them. Where's Jesus? Sleeping soundly. I read this today and almost laughed. How many times I've accused God of "sleeping" while my life goes to hell in a handbasket. . .and here it is in black and white! But I noticed something today. The reaction of His disciples was very different from the reaction of the people of the Gergesenes. Instead of asking Him to leave, or throwing Him overboard like Jonah to the whale. . .they awoke Him and asked Him to save them. They couldn't see into the spiritual realm any better than the people of the Gergesenes, and yet they reacted to "the shadows" in a good way. Perhaps the difference is they knew Jesus and had come to love and trust Him. The people of the Gergesenes, on the other hand, didn't know or love Him and were therefore much more susceptible to misinterpreting "the shadows". I think it's going to prove useful to me to keep these two stories side by side in my mind. When disaster strikes, am I going to ask Jesus to save me or to leave me alone? I suppose it will all depend on whether or not I love and trust Him.

Safe To Death

We watched a movie last night called The Maldonado Miracle. It's the story of a small border town in California, devastated by a failing local economy, being revitalized by a miracle that happens in the small Catholic church in town. A life-size crucifix appears to have blood streaming from it's eyes. The town becomes a religious destination and business starts booming again. Besides Peter Fonda being cast as the priest. . .the movie worked fairly well. There was one line in particular that seemed to sum things up for me. Towards the end of the movie, when it seemed as if the miracle had not been genuine after all (I won't tell you if it was or not), the Mexican lady who had originally discovered it is arguing with the priest who is getting ready to wash the blood off the crucifix. She says, "The difference between you and me Padre is that you need proof that there was a miracle, while I need proof that there wasn't." There is a world of difference in those two approaches to discovering truth.

I actually didn't think much about it until this morning when I was reading from The Prologue of Ochrid (a collection of the lives of saints and homilies) for June 19. I'll quote:

Saint Jude was one of the Twelve Apostles. He was the son of Joseph and Salome and the brother of James, the brother of the Lord. With Salome, the daughter of Angeja the son of Varahina, the brother of Zacharias, Joseph the carpenter had four sons: James, Hosea, Simon and Jude. This Jude is sometimes called: "Jude, the brother of James" because of his more famous brother (St. Luke 6:16 Acts 1:14). St. Jude begins his epistle in this manner: "Jude, the servant of Jesus Christ and the brother of James" (St. Jude 1:1). Even though he could be called the brother of the Lord as much as James, he did not do this out of humility and shame for, in the beginning, he did not believe Christ the Lord.

As I read this I realized how extraordinarily difficult it would have been to be a step-brother of Jesus and recognize Him as the Son of God. Jesus, being fully human, must have seemed so "ordinary" to members of His family that they simply could not believe it. But then again, perhaps that's not it at all. Perhaps we are all so crushed and disappointed by having dream after dream come to nothing in our lives, that we protect ourselves against further disappointment by "requiring proof" when something miraculous happens. We start living as skeptics rather than believers. In the face of death, which surrounds us in one form or another throughout our lives, we gradually start to believe in the primacy of death and lose hope in life. Perhaps that is the real source of our inability to believe in the miraculous. It's just safer not to.