Spiritual Heroin

Cynicism is spiritual heroin. At first the junk makes you feel good and takes the edge off reality. It gives a young addict the illusion of "being on top of the game." But it eventually becomes nothing more than another bad habit you gotta feed. Quitting means withdrawal, and until you're ready for that unpleasant experience, you dangle from invisible strings like a zombie-puppet jerked around by the devil himself. It's an awkward situation, to say the least. I'd like to just go cold turkey - but thus far, I haven't had the stomach for it. However, weaning myself little by little hasn't worked very well either - too easy to take one step forward and two steps back. But like most things of this nature, it's probably best to avoid talking about it too much.

The Perfect Place to Suffer

A fallen world is no place to grow up. It is a damp and foggy place with weak and filtered light. It is a rocky place, with scratchy and sticky things that get caught in your socks. It's the kind of place where children discover who they are only to be convinced otherwise by well-meaning parents, teachers, gurus, and so-called spiritual guides. It is a place of tears, disappointment, and regret. It is a place of suffering.

And yet - somehow I know my opening sentence is false - dead wrong even. It is an example of what we all learned in Psych 1A - "projection." Fallen world? No. Fallen humanity. It is slowly dawning on me that this rocky and painful planet is the perfect place to struggle and discover who we really are and what our situation is precisely because it is a place of suffering. It humbles us...or it pisses us off. The former re-connects us to God...the latter only strengthens our connection to the world of angry spirits that cackle all around us in a cosmic bitching session. The "fallen" world may be painful - but without this pain I would never suspect that anything was amiss.

The Updated Publican

I'm currently reading Connect : 12 vital ties that open your heart, lengthen your life, and deepen your soul by Edward Hallowell, most famous for his book on ADD called Driven to Distraction. As I was reading this morning over breakfast I found my bagel and cream-cheese tasting saltier and saltier.

In Chapter Three, Dr. Hallowell tells the story of how he eventually connected with a young man, Mr. S., who suffered with schizophrenia. It is a compelling account. Dr. Hallowell was a resident at "Mass. Mental" (an in-patient mental facility in Boston, I presume) at the time, and one of his assignments was to "just sit" with Mr. S. and "see what happens." He was warned that nothing probably would, so he sat...and sat...and sat. There was no connection between Dr. Hallowell and Mr. S. at all - no conversation, no eye contact, just an occasional chuckle from Mr. S. This went on for weeks. Getting a little tired of this, Dr. Hallowell got an idea - he wrote a line, like an opening line of a poem, on a piece of paper and put it in front of Mr. S, along with a pen. Of course, by this time Dr. Hallowell didn't think this would actually "work", but what the heck. Astonishingly, Mr. S. picked up the pen and wrote a second line in the "poem." Dr. Hallowell wrote another line...etc. until their "poem" was finished. Here is what they wrote together:

Dr. H: They said I am a hopeless case
Mr. S: Not I , a member of the human race, in disgrace
Dr. H: I wish they wouldn't say that
Mr. S: In a nonjoking way
Dr. H: It makes me
Mr. S: Suspicious
Dr. H: And angry and sad
Mr. S: Which aren't the strongest emotions I've had
Dr. H: The strongest are
Mr. S: Composed of these
Dr. H: Combined into
Mr. S: Something I don't want to feel
Dr. H: Something like
Mr. S: Rage, but not quite
Dr. H: Also like
Mr. S: An intense feeling

I don't think I've ever encountered a better summation of the human condition than Mr. S's response to the assertion, "They say I am a hopeless case": "Not I , a member of the human race, in disgrace" - on the one hand denying that he is hopeless, but on the other hand recognizing what a mess he is. In some ways, Mr. S is like an updated version of the publican: Unwilling to look up and attempt a connection with heaven, he can only beat his breast and hope there is mercy in a seemingly God-forsaken world.

A Life Apart

It makes me wonder who is really living in the real world.
- Kelly Adams, reporter for the Columbian newspaper

That was the conclusion this reporter made after spending some time at the Orthodox Monastery of St. John the Forerunner near Goldendale, WA. (Letter from Goldendale).

I've mentioned this monastery on more than one occasion - the most recent being the account of Photini's burial there (Vain Pursuits).

To read the entire article, click on:
A Life Apart: Monastery near Goldendale attracts women who choose a prayerful existence

(Thanks Macrina, for sending me this link.)

Thomas and Bright Week

Ever since becoming Orthodox, the hardest part of the year for me is always the week following Pascha - Bright Week. The first year it really took me by surprise, especially the depression that I wore like sunglasses to Bright Week Services. I really didn't understand it, and thought it was probably because I had just gotten baptized and the devil was "after me." Maybe so, but year after year I've had the same trouble and this year was the worst yet. By the end of last week, I was starting to get concerned about the state of my soul - depression, irritability, moodiness in general, old passions regaining strength, etc. Then the secondary effects started kicking in - the "feeling guilty about feeling bad" syndrome. It was all I could do to show up at a couple services. Thank God I'm a Reader, because more than anything else that's what got me to Vigil last night and Liturgy this morning. Duty can be a blessing at times, because during Liturgy things started turning around as Fr. David (filling in for Fr. Nicholas) gave the homily.

Today was the first Sunday after Pascha, and on this Sunday the Church always celebrates the "good unbelief" of Thomas . Fr. David pointed out how "curious" this is - that is, the celebration of "unbelief." But in a way, Thomas is misunderstood. Everyone thinks of him as the "doubter." But who or what did he actually doubt? In listening to the gospel this morning, it seemed that Thomas mainly doubted the testimony of his fellow disciples. Given the circumstances, can you blame him? Thomas was no skeptic or cynic - he continued to hang out with the disciples and when the Lord appeared among them again, one week later, Thomas was quick to believe and fling himself to the ground in worship. In short, Thomas had a little trouble with Bright Week as well - that's all.

I took great comfort in this. These psychological "let-downs" happen to us fallen humans, and God is neither surprised nor offended by our weakness. He is patient, kind, gentle, and doesn't hesitate to give us what we require to re-connect with Him. Christ is risen! Truly - He is risen!

Waterfall of Tears

God is not stoic. He may be unmovable in His essence, but His energies refract through the tears Jesus weeps. Scripture records Him weeping twice; once over the stubbornness of Jerusalem, and once over the death of His friend Lazarus. So - if God weeps, what keeps my tears from flowing? While it's not exactly the theme of T-Bone Burnett's sci-fi song, "Humans From Earth," he nails it in the third verse:

I know we may seem pretty strange to you
But we got know-how and a golden rule
We're here to see manifest destiny through
Ain't nothing we can't get used to

We easily get used to anything and everything with the result that no-thing can move us to weep. It's a damn shame too, because the world looks better seen through a waterfall of tears.

Frank Schaeffer

Before I converted to Orthodoxy I read everything that Francis Schaeffer or his wife Edith wrote...well, not everything. I tended to ignore all that fire-breathing "truly reformed" stuff they were into before L'Abri. In fact, I credit them and a church that was highly influenced by them in the St. Louis area for pointing me in the direction of Orthodoxy in the first place.

However, I never could get into Frank Schaeffer's (their son) books too much because he always seemed to have a bone to pick with pagans and rosy-cheeked Christians alike. I didn't consider myself in his sights too often - being somewhere between rosy-cheeks and sunken eyes - but I just didn't like the tone of his non-fiction. (He sure writes funny novels though - Portifino, et. al.) So, when Frank converted to Orthodoxy I figured he finally got so fed up with the "Christianity as Entertainment" side of American Evangelicalism that he ran into the sea of Orthodoxy like some kind of religious lemming. I happened to visit a branch of L'Abri in Southborough, MA not too long after Frank drowned and the prevailing opinion there was, "Frank needs to be spanked." Their attitude was rather "Elephant Childish" so I didn't pay much attention. Little did I know that some 10 years later I'd be risking a spanking myself.

Anyway, I still have a very fond place in my heart for the Schaeffers and think that Edith is probably a Saint, so I'm always interested to hear what's up with Frank and crew. I found this little blurb about Frank Schaeffer on Fr. John's Blog, copied from the Dallas Morning News. The article gives a little insight into Frank's conversion which I found interesting. I thought maybe some of you would too.

Christ is Risen!

Indeed He is risen!


Christ is risen from the dead...


Trampling down death by death...


And upon those in the tombs...


Bestowing life.