hope in the Lord

is above all things

that bring sorrow

Lord's Day Matins: Hymns of Ascent - Tone 4

I wrote the following post in August, but I didn't quite have the chops down for posting it here at that time. It is the first lesson I learned during my recent health adventure. There are a number of lessons to reflect upon and I'll post them, too.

8.19.08

I awoke pissed today: angry at my body and the fact that with all my maintenance and care, it’s aging on me.  Six years ago, after much angst, embarrassment, and obsessive research, I had a hysterectomy.  In that procedure I also needed some repairs made because of hereditary factors and the bulldozing babies I delivered in labor (the first child hit the scales at 9' 13", the second  a few years later at 10' 13"). My brilliant doctor used some  new mesh technology to give my insides naturalistic support and function. From my recovery, I had a new lease on life; I was so thrilled with the results, I wished I’d done it years earlier when quality of life symptoms began.  I thought it would last my lifetime.

My doctor was conservative in the use of the mesh; he wanted the body to serve itself as much as possible before he interfered—“played God”—as it were.  There was a chance I might incur hernias as time went by. My mother had the surgery at least two if not three times; she didn’t have the benefit of the methods and technology available now, and her problems continued to affect her quality of life.Now with this new and improved mesh technology, I should be good to go healthwise.   I won’t end up being my mother’s daughter on this issue. So I am making plans for the surgery.

There are some positives to the event. It won’t be a disastrous amount of recovery time—one night at the minor surgery center, one week at home, prone as much as possible.  I’ll play the Queen of Sheba with my love slave (husband) and hand maiden (daughter) at my side.  There will possibly be two or three weeks of no lifting—a great bonus since we’ll be traveling to Los Angeles and moving our daughter into her dorm. I get to be the “Boss Man.” The biggest negative will be a “no touchee” rule for up to six weeks; my love slave will get a reprieve.

But I’m pissed because I can’t believe my body is doing this to me when I’m so very busy with my life.  It is so full with writing projects: Making Love Songs, the regional cookbook, my writing blog, my writing routines. I have tremendous freedom, creativity, and activity in my life.  I want my body keeping up with my mind and this train?—this horse?—this river?—this flight? I’m taking.  I don’t want to schlep it along or be slowed up after all the years it has taken me to reach this point. I don’t want it to interrupt the flow.

So I’ve bitched all morning—to myself, my pilates friends and trainers, and my husband. They’ve all patiently and politely listened. As I walk to my car I receive a phone call from my beloved. He tells me our friend and a company manager is in the office today; maybe I wanted to stop in and visit?  I do. 

It is a surprise to hear that George is at the office.  Exactly two weeks ago he learned his four month long headaches occurred because of a baseball sized tumor in his head.  Last week surgeons removed it and determined it is Stage 4 brain cancer. He and his wife, both fighters, neither one quitters, are in for the long haul.  They plan to beat the odds. An outpouring of friends, peers, and associates will be kicking, screaming, and praying with them along the way. 

George looks good.  He should be home, resting, taking care of personal business, spending some leisure time with his bride, Ann.  He’s in his office—a wonderful old stone office with two feet thick Texas stone walls that have stood around handling business and troubles for over a century.  I step into his space. There is comfort for him here.  It is filled with eclectic western furniture, memorabilia from film and video projects, and quirky, lovable and funny items he holds onto. George stands in his jeans, boots, and snap shirt.  A blue bandanna on his head under a ubiquitous cowboy hat belies the rupture in his routine.  Always stylish, George carries off his appearance of normalcy with aplomb.  We visit and I tell him not only has he been in my daily prayers, but I pass along concerns and blessings from mutual friends.  He is so humble, grateful, and full of the grace that will help him battle for his life. I have other friends who have or are battling cancer. George will want all the grace he can get. It is a rough course ahead.  I suddenly realize my pee problem is pretty minor in the big picture of things.

My whining is only the anger I feel as I realize that time and aging are beyond my control--more maintenance, another bit of underpinning to put in place so my bag of bones can keep pace with my mind.—hello, Life! 

I need to be grateful—like George—for what is here for me:  the opportunity to fix my physical failings, of knowing with luck, I’ll see many tomorrows and can pursue my dreams, ride and bump along on this current of events. Today this lesson came through George as a reminder to take a reality check on my perspective.  It also reminds me of something a good friend and unofficial guru says when she thinks she’s having a bad day: “There is nothing bad about today if one, I’m not taking chemo, and two, I haven’t lost a child.” It’s a thought I shall add to my list of thank yous in prayer. It is wisdom I’ll whip out as a shield against the whine.

I got up and had some Father's Day time with my kids and we got ready and went to Church. We arrived during Matins and attended the Liturgy. It is amazing to me how much is really packed into a Divine Liturgy, or any of the liturgical services. They are rich both in theology and in Scripture. With the liturgy substantively remaining the same for the last couple thousand years, it is easy to see how the faith and belief of the Church has remained unchanged.

That leads me into something I really noted during Liturgy yesterday. You know, I can read a passage of Scripture and think: "I wonder what this means?" or even "I think this means such-n-such." I do that based on whatever my opinion happens to be and based on whatever level of knowledge I have or think I have. The wonderful thing that I have begun to realize though, is that Christianity did not begin with me. It did not begin a 150 years ago. This is, in the "since Pentecost" age, a 2000 year old Faith. In truth, though, it is thousands of years older than that. According to the New Testament Scriptures, the faith Abraham was the "Christian" faith and Abraham himself looked forward to the coming of Christ.

When I reduce Christianity down to my understanding or my thoughts and opinions, especially when I reduce it down to my current knowledge, I make it much smaller than it is. I not only limit it based on my imperfect human understanding, I actually change it from what it is to something else. I have learned that it is not centered around what I think, but rather I need to center my thinking around it.

This was evident, in several different ways, to me today. There have been several questions I have been asking myself...what does this or that mean...how should I understand this or that. There I sat in services, and these questions were simply answered. Then it dawns on me, interestingly during the very feast celebrating the Holy Spirit coming on the Apostles and the beginning of the New Testament era Church, that Christianity has had to ask and answer questions for two thousand years. Most of my questions really are, in many ways, small questions in the grand scheme of things. Many of the things I see people wrestling with today are questions that have been answered...and these questions were answered by Christianity at large, one would also say under the leading of the Holy Spirit, and these questions were answered by people who spoke the same language, lived in the same culture, and went to churches that were established by the Apostles and mentioned in our New Testament - people who felt their responsibility was to PRESERVE the Faith they received and to REJECT innovation. Even more, it is these people, living in this Faith, that would give us our New Testament (contrary to what some think, the New Testament did not come down from Heaven on a cloud).

I guess what I am saying here, rather clumsily, is that this Faith is so much bigger than I am, and that it is arrogant presumption and naivete that leads me to believe that she has not asked and answered questions. She (the Church) has thought about things, and she has tested ideas and thoughts against the Holy Tradition and teaching of Christ, His Apostles, and the Fathers of the Church. Even in the 3rd-4th centuries, you can read people writing about the Faith received from the Apostles and Fathers. And when I look to her for the answers, I find that they are not only there, but the depth of spirituality and understanding in these answers are far beyond anything I could have come up with on my own. This is one of the fruits I have seen in my life in the last couple years as I have looked towards this ancient Christian Faith - I have been able to let go of my thoughts and opinions and in turning to the Church I have been stretched and the God and Faith I now see I can truly say is awesome and beyond me. With that, comes security. I now have a greater trust and security in what I believe, because it is not based on what I may or may not know, but on what millions of Christians over 2000 years have believed. As someone once said, "what has been believed by everyone, everywhere, always" (my paraphrase - if I find the actual quote I'll correct it :) ).

The Feast of Pentecost, celebrated in the Church, pointed out to me, and reminded me what my historical studies had already revealed to me - this IS the Church of Pentecost - this is the Church of Acts, the Church of the Apostles and Prophets, the Church of the Martyrs and Saints, the Church of the Ecumenical Councils and the Church that, based on the Holy Tradition she lived and practiced, said, with the guidance of the Holy Spirit, what books constituted our New Testament.

Of course, while these things speak volumes to me, they are less important to my wife. She has asked "Is this really the Church in the New Testament?" (The answer, historically, is yes). But her road to Orthodoxy has been much different from mine. For me it has been much more of the "rational intellectual" (Hieromonk Mark told me today), where hers has been much more cautious and practical. She is not all that interested in the history or theological comparisons and understandings...hers is much more, well, spiritual. Her approach has been more in the realm of real life and relationships.

While this actually being the Church of Pentecost probably impresses her very little (it does impress her, though), the tested and real spirituality of the Orthodox Church - the life in Christ that is lived and shared among the Orthodox faithful - this has made much more of an impact. And she is on her journey, her discovery of this ancient and beautiful Faith...and while she is going slowly, the impact of her journey has been very real.

Praise God for that!

The Liturgy is served on any day, all year long, with an important exception: during the Great Forty-day Fast, known as Lent, no Liturgy with the Eucharist, or consecration of bread and wine, is served during Lenten weekdays. Instead, we serve a special form of the (non-eucharistic) Liturgy, without the consecration, called the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts. Also, during Lent, the older form of the common liturgy, that of St Basil, is served on Sundays. Although other forms of the liturgy are served periodically at certain times of the year, the most common form of the Divine Liturgy celebrated in the Orthodox Catholic Church throughout the world is that of St John Chrysostom.

We must first look at the place which the Liturgy has in the normal flow of time. Then, we can examine its basic shape and proceed from there to walk through the Liturgy from beginning to end in order to follow its detailed movement with understanding.

The Liturgy in time

In its broadest sense, the Liturgy is a rising up from the daily cycle of time. This temporal movement is marked in the Church by special services: Vespers at sunset (the beginning of the new day), Compline after the evening meal, the Midnight service, Matins before sunrise and the canonical Hours (First, Third, Sixth, and Ninth) through the daylight hours.  Each of these services of prayer mark time and sanctify it. But the Liturgy itself transcends time and therefore does not mark time in any way. It is in a class of its own. Although the Liturgy can be served at any time of day or night, usually it is served in the morning, after Matins.  Therefore, faithful Orthodox Christians make it a habit to attend Vespers the night before the Liturgy and to keep a quiet evening with prayer and vigil, as strength enables. Early in the morning, the faithful return to the church temple for Matins and remain for the Liturgy. This is the context in time, as usually celebrated.

The “temporal services,” as I have called them, assist the faithful to ascend noetically (spiritually) the “holy mountain” of the heart to converse with God liturgically. Imagine when one is preparing a meal for his family and for his guests. He says that it will be a seafood dinner. Does he place a nice looking fish on each plate and invite all to be seated? Of course not. He prepares many dishes, both in anticipation of the bill of fare and of some more afterward: appetizers, beverages of various kinds, salad, fish prepared a certain way with trimmings of some kind, a side-dish of rice or the like. Then there is some dessert to complete the meal and yet more kinds of drinks, cold and hot. All this is accompanied by dinner conversation, seating at a properly adorned and set table, and so on. The same is true of the Liturgy itself. We have seen that the Liturgy is, basically, a meal. This meal needs the same preparation, accompaniment, and after-course that our fish dinner had. So, you can see how unprepared and ill-fitted each of us might be, if we showed up merely to “get communion.” We are not really “there” and so dishonor our Lord by being late and ill-clad for the dinner He prepares, not just to feed our corruptible flesh but rather our immortal soul!

Sister Alma Rose begins each day praising God and watching the sun rise, unless it is raining. Sister Alma Rose did not just fall off the turnip truck.

Sunne, sign of Holy God, symbol of hope; proof of renewal,
you hover beneath the horizon, invisible but for the glory of
lavender radiance bleaching the shadow away. This is the
loveliest time-this sweet waiting, this breathless ephemeral
moment, as ray upon ray paints the sky. Soon comes the day.

In the predawn have a score of antiphonal songbirds begun
their effusions, for you they anticipate, faithful and sure
of their wings. "Welcome," they sing, and the music rings
joyously, stirring the cool air still heavy with night mist.
Already delight wakes the spirits who listen and know
the serene expectation of grace.

Praise to the God who created you, Sunne; who gave you
to Earth; who made you to call forth the green shoot of
corn from the sod. When to our senses you offer the
shimmer of silver on cottonwood limbs and the fresh
lilac fragrance in May-we will remember to praise Heaven then.

Would we complain of you, distant and dim in the
wintertime, blistering delicate foliage in summer? When rose
petals wither, we say we are sick of the sight of you. We wish
for rain then. The clouds break apart, loosing superabundance,
and once again we complain, crying out, loud and strident,
"O, Sunne! Bright yellow circle of fire, sustainer of all living
things, giver of light, vanished beacon-return to us now.
Banish the rain!" But in truth you were never away.

But for you all the water would stay in the sea. But for
you there would be no refreshing and cleansing, and
all would be desert and dust and decay.

Now here at the cusp of the day, this most blessèd of interludes, we
wait to welcome you. We stand this hour with our faces turned
eastward, not taking for granted the planting, the harvest, the feast,
or the flower, the forest, the lush prairie grass.

And at last, in a fearsome display of such power and
beauty we must look away after merely a glance at the
slender curve breaching the edge of the world... at last
you emerge, and the land is awash in magnificence. Great
God, forgive us a minute's regret for the awesome
fulfillment of promise; it's only for loss of the willing,
sweet, soft contemplation we turn from. But with us and
in us we carry the light we inhaled in your great and triumphal
arising.

Gracious God, may that first beam's bold brightness illuminate,
guide, and inspire us today. May we glow with your glory
and go forth with vigor and purpose, our hearts singing echoes
of songbirds in chorus and shining with love as the wheel of
the Sunne on its journey gleams warmly, benignly above.

Amen.

Read about Sister Alma Rose and the Ancients in The Ancients, Part 1: Daddy Pete.
Find more prayers and meditations in Unfamiliar Territory, Vol. 1.
Find meditation music and guided meditations at LifeIsPoetry.net.

From Bede's History III.12 (McClure and Collins, p. 129)

"It is related, for example, that every often he [King Oswald] would continue in prayer from matins to daybreak; and because of his frequent habit of prayer and thanksgiving, he was always accustomed, whenever he sat, to place his hands on his knees with the palms turned upwards. It is also a tradition which has become proverbial, that he died with a prayer on his lips. When he was beset by the weapons of his enemies and saw that he was about to perish he prayed for the souls of his army. So the proverb runs, 'May God have mercy on their souls, as Oswald said when he fell to the earth'"

This passage has attracted the most attention for his palms up posture. I've read here and there some odd talk about it reflecting pre-Christain postures. Nonsense... look around your local church and then look at ancient murals and art and you will see palms up postures throughout.

What has attracted my attention is the claim that he prayed continually from matins to daybreak. This is one sleep deprived king! Did he have insomnia? Matins is supposed to be the midnight office and daybreak is lauds. Obviously, matins can't be really midnight. In reality various monasteries and churches set matins at various times of the night. It is likely that each monastic system had a schedule set for daily prayer, and it was practiced by members of the house(s) where ever they were. It seems likely that Oswald followed the schedule from Lindisfarne, led by a personal priest. This also suggests that the hours of the office were done somewhere within Bamburgh's enclosure so that it was easily accessible to Oswald.

It is one of the mysteries of Oswald's reign that his personal priest is not mentioned. We know that his brother Oswiu had personal priests -- Utta, later Abbot of Gateshead, and Eadhead, later Bishop of Lindsey-- and his son Oethelwald had Caelin, brother of bishops Cedd and Chad, as his personal priest. All of these priests were from the Lindisfarne family, and as the founder of Lindisfarne it is almost certain that Oswald would have had an Irish priest by his side. There wouldn't have been any English priests trained until at the very earliest late in Oswald's reign. Given that Bede is promoting the close relationship between Oswald and Bishop Aidan I suppose its not surprising that his personal priest, who really couldn't be Aidan, isn't mentioned.

One of the things this calls to mind is that first of all, Oswald was surely, remarkably pious. After an evening in the hall with his court, getting up before dawn for prayer is impressive. It may also be the only time during the day when a king could quietly think. Once the rest of the court awakes, the day's business will begin and by evening his hall will be full of his retainers. It also occurs to me that this formal position, with palms turned up, indicates that Oswald was a rather impressive, kingly figure otherwise these odd details would not have been remembered.

This also brings up Oswald's understanding of Latin. How many kings would go daily to hear the office if they couldn't understand it. Granted, he may have just wanted to be present when what he considered to be sacred rites were preformed and to pray silently to himself. Still it all suggests quite a lot of formation on Oswald's behalf done by Iona before he returned and afterwards fostered by the monks of Lindisfarne.

Dans cette promenade, on a visité les Sources du Llobregat, un des fleuves qui passent par Barcelona. Quoi? Un fleuve à Barcelona? Où? Ben, oui, un au nord et l'autre au sud...

Mais en voyant la situation des sources, et d'une conduction d'eau qu'il y avait pas très loin, j'ai envoyé un mail à Catalunya Radio, la prèmiere radio catalane, en leurs explicant la situation. La secheresse fait mal!!

Et voilà que mon mail a été lu en directe, choisi comme "lettre du jour"! Incroyable! Ils reçoivent plein lettres et messages tous les jours! Je suis très contente!

Et donc, je vous le copi ci-dessus, en catalan, parce que j'ai pas du tout envie de la traduire, et comme ça, ceux qui ne sont pas francophones, pour une fois ne vont pas râler.

"Bon dia,

Diumenge passat vam visitar la fira del formatge de Ribes de Freser. Aprofitant el bon temps, ja que no va ser fins l’endemà, dilluns de Pasqua, en què va començar a nevar, vam acostar-nos a les Fonts del Llobregat.
Després d’haver passat uns anys a França i visitar el començament de varis rius de la regió Rhône-Alpes, per molt que et diguin que hi ha sequera, no t’esperes trobar el que vam veure nosaltres. L’aigua brolla de la muntanya en una petita cascada, l’indret és fresc i agradable. Però no cal fixar-se gaire per veure tots els altres indrets per on es veu clarament que hauria de brollar l’aigua i que ara no són res més que roca nua amb una mica de molsa o líquens mig secs enganxats.
Pujant una mica més, descobrim que el que creiem que era el principi del riu, en realitat hauria de ser una segona font. Hi ha una llera completament buida i un teòric ressorgiment sec uns metres més amunt. No som experts en aquests temes, però ens agradaria poder confirmar les postres impressions amb algú que en sàpiga i que hagi visitat l’inici del Llobregat.

Però a més d’aquesta informació, us escrivim aquest mail per mostrar-vos una fotografia. Sortint de les mateixes Fonts hi ha una canonada que transporta aigua no sabem cap a on ni amb quina finalitat, això potser vosaltres ho trobareu més fàcilment. Aquesta canonada, que té pinta de tenir molts anys veient lo rovellada que està, es pot veure mentre es puja per la carretera en varis punts. Uns 500 metres abans d’arribar a les Fonts, es veu això: varis forats a la canonada envien raigs d’aigua a alta pressió. La fotografia la vam prendre cap a les 4 de la tarda, i aquesta zona es troba a la part de solana, no a l’obaga, però les baixes temperatures havien permès de mantenir encara una bona part del gel format. De fet, primer ens va cridar l’atenció el gel, i després vam poder veure la causa.
Sabem que no és més que una altra dada sobre la manera en que es perd aigua i segurament no té res a veure en quantitat aquesta pèrdua amb la canonada de Badalona, però nosaltres vam omplir una ampolleta de mig litre en uns pocs minuts.

No volem fer pedagogia, d’això ja se n’ocupen els polítics força bé, però comencem a estar una mica fins al monyo d’estrènyer el cinturó per la “nova cultura de l’aigua”, de sentir dir que els pagesos no podran regar, cosa que farà pujar el preu de les verdures. I en canvi no hi ha ningú que impedeixi que es continuï llençant aigua, ja sigui en les canonades, ja sigui en els parcs temàtics. I mentrestant, no veiem que hi hagi ningú que doni un bon cop de puny sobre la taula per dir que fins aquí hem arribat, que s’ha acabat de fer pedaços i que s’han de fer veritables solucions. La nostra sensació és que sempre, els que en sortim perjudicats som la gent del carrer, tant els de la gran ciutat com els de poble, perquè uns han de demanar aigua als altres, que l’han de treure d’allà on no n’hi ha per donar-los-hi.

Moltes gràcies"

Oh, et pour ceux qui ne me croient pas, je vous propose d'aller sur le site de la radio, et écouter l'emission d'aujourd'hui, 28/03/08 de la partie qu'ils appellent le "defensor de l'oient", et juste après, (vers le minute 10 de ces 12 totales) il y a la "lettre du jour".

http://www.catradio.cat/pcatradio/crItem.jsp?seccio=seccio&idint=261

J'ai téléchargé l'emission mais je trouve pas l'option pour l'inserer ici...

J'annonce le tableau. C'est LUNDI. Il faut froid (déjà), et tu as la tête tellement enfoncé dans le derrière que tu es à moitié bigleuse. Donc dans l'ordre des choses, tu te prends soigneusement la tranche de la porte dans la tête. Oui la porte que tu as poussé énergiquement, mais qui a rebondi sur ton pied. Et que tu prends dans la tête. Dans le front.

Puis ces matins là, même un café, deux cafés, 3 cafés, 4 cafés, ne peuvent rien à ton état. Tu es fatiguée mais en plus tu rentres dans un état de nervosité effroyable, et tu t'énerves sur tout ce que tu peux. Au pif: la chaise, la 5éme tasse de café que tu viens de renverser toute propre, dans la cuisine que tu as nettoyé la veille. Ou l'homme qui se trouve par là. ET FORCEMENT, en plus d'être crevée, de mauvaise humeur, tu ressembles à rien. Logique. Enfin, si, tu ressemble à quelque chose du genre ça.

Ces mêmes matins, tu ne peux même pas prendre de douche pour te réveiller, vu que tu l'as prise avant de te coucher, donc tu es définitivement condamnée à errer dans le monde du pâté. Et tu te décides à faire du café, vu que tu viens de finir ce qui restait.

Sauf, que tu oublies de mettre le vasque. Et forcément, si il n'y a pas le vasque, ça doit bien couler quelque part. Dans ta cuisine nettoyée deux fois depuis ce matin. FORCEMENT. Et sur les murs (sans ça ça serait certainement moins drôle).

Ces mêmes matins, sont ceux ou tu prends le déo anti-transpirant à la place de ton brumisateur Evian. Et que tu trouves le moyen d'ouvrir grand la bouche.

Après ça évidemment, tu détestes la terre entière. Au moins. Et généralement, il ne fait jamais beau. C'est comme ça. L'ordre naturel des choses je vous dit.

Le seul remède, à ces matins de MERDE, c'est d'aller se recoucher. Mais généralement, on peut pas. (L'ordre naturel des choses tout ça, blablabla blabla).

Et voyez, ce matin, je suis un peu dans ce genre d'état. Bon c'est ma faute, aller se coucher à pas d'heure, voilà ce que ça fait. Mais ça me rappelle de "tendres" moments nostalgiques de matins que j'ai pu vivre.

Je DÉTESTE ces matins là. Mais vu que je suis une grande fille, je vais assumer, aller m'entrainer, et ENFIN, prendre une douche, faire une sieste, et aller me ré-entrainer le soir. Si je tue personne au passage.

Bonne journée tout le monde. Et pour tout savoir sur l'histoire de la cafetière, c'est ici.

Je devais passer à la poste aujourd'hui, mais pour ma santé et celle des autres, je pense que je vais éviter.

Alzheimer ne pulvérise pas seulement la mémoire mais le temps aussi ; le temps et sa mesure qui fait que j'ai du vieillir de dix ans ces deux dernières années et que je n'ai plus jamais eu les longues plages de temps que j'avais auparavant pour faire ce que je faisais et qui était tout simplement ... ma vie. Dans un entretien, Balthus parle quelque part du temps et de sa mesure. Il dit qu'autrefois on mesurait les prés en matins. Un matin c'était la surface de pré que pouvait couvrir un homme avec sa faux en une matinée. Je trouve cette expression tout simplement magnifique et sans doute suis-je un faucheur de ces époques révolues où le temps s'écoulait lentement au clocher des villages. Je rêve, le champ fauché, de pouvoir m'allonger sur le dos un jour d'été, avec de la paille dans les cheveux, écoutant le crissement des sauterelles dans l'herbe jaunie ; attendant avec les autres moissonneurs transpirant sous le soleil de midi que les femmes du village voisin nous apportent pour le repas les énormes miches de pain et la soupe de lard... Comme disait ma grand-mère : on a les rêves qu'on mérite.
--
Parlez des foins me fait toujours penser à cette belle phrase de Claude Roy...

Nostalgie des temps heureux

It is not possible, however, to jump from this to saying that the Tridentine ordo and rituale are 'pre-schism.' That is just too much of a stretch. If you want to learn about pre-schism ritual, read the Ordo Romanus Primus, which reflects the pontifical liturgy at Rome toward the end of the 7th century. Ironically, it is far more like the Byzantine Rite on the one hand, and the Novus Ordo Missae, which WR people, Anglican or Roman, are trying to escape because it is so mixed up with the theological deviations and other modernisms of the present-day Anglican and Roman communions." - Mark Harrison 7/9/2006

That's another interesting point: do we sanction the use of a clearly heterodox devotional practice like the stations of the cross, because it corresponds to a similar Eastern practice. Same argument could be made for the rosary. But is mere correspondence in superficial form sufficient when there is such non-correspondence in the implications of those pieties for the Faith?

"Sun" is a standard pun on Son; it refers to Jesus Christ; "beam" means not only ray of light, but a piece of wood large enough to support a structure; it refers to the cross on which a crucified Christ by dying takes upon himself and redeems (pays the price for) the sins of those who believe in him. So while "by a sunbeam" seems to specify the means by which the poem's speaker will perform a certain act – "I will climb to thee" – the phrase undercut his claim to be able to do so by reminding us (not him) that Christ has already done the climbing and thereby prevented (in the sense of anticipating) any positive act man mistakenly thinks to be his own. If the speaker climbs to God, he does so by means of God, and cannot take any personal credit for what he "does." If he truly knows God's love, he will know that as an unconditional and all-sufficing gift it has disabled him as an agent.

One might add that, in Orthodox thinking, heaven and earth are joined, time isn't the same (which is why an orthodox piety is to not carry watches into the eternity of the mystery), and the sacrifice is present at each communion - Christ is not re-sacrificed (that would be heresy), but he as the sacrifice is re-present with us in fullness, apart from the concerns of time.

To his point, the flippancy with which the rites can be viewed in much discussion of "going East" or "going West" seems to detract from the reverence proper to either.

You want to know how I spend my time?
I walk the front lawn, pretending
to be weeding. You ought to know
I'm never weeding, on my knees, pulling
clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact
I'm looking for courage, for some evidence
my life will change, though
it takes forever, checking
each clump for the symbolic
leaf, and soon the summer is ending, already
the leaves turning, always the sick trees
going first, the dying turning
brilliant yellow, while a few dark birds perform
their curfew of music. You want to see my hands?
As empty now as at the first note.
Or was the point always
to continue without a sign?

Louise Gluck

I'm in one of those phases where language, spoken or written, feels like a sock that doesn't fit around the heel. There are times when just digging, whether for weeds or clover, is the only gesture that feels authentic. And in that silence I can detect the slow shifting of a hibernating beast, my own, moving in its lair down deep in the earth.

Lyrics:

1. Earth and all stars, loud rushing planets,
sing to the Lord a new song!
O victory, loud shouting army,
sing to the Lord a new song!

Refrain: He has done marvelous things.
I, too, will praise him with a new song!

2. Hail, wind, and rain, loud blowing snowstorms,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Flowers and trees, loud rustling leaves,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain

3. Trumpet and pipes, loud clashing cymbals,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Harp, lute, and lyre, loud humming cellos,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain

4. Engines and steel, loud pounding hammers,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Limestone and beams, loud building workers,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain

5. Classrooms and labs, loud boiling test tubes,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Athlete and band, loud cheering people,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain

6. Knowledge and truth, loud sounding wisdom,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Daughter and son, loud praying members,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain