Mhaolain's Child, a Renaissance Thinker in a Post-Modern Culture

The Bird House

Spring has been exceptionally beautiful here on the farm this year. Like a beauty pageant, every flowering tree has had its own unique turn on the stage to show off its blooms and fragrance. Today, the locust trees exude their heady sweet fragrance. My roses and irises, both species grafted from heirloom shrubs and bulbs, dot my hillside like a Seurat painting. As an animal lover, I'm thrilled to see the wild creatures scurry around after surviving another cold winter. I have a chipmunk family whose antics bring joy to my day, even when they eat my flowers.

Most endearing to me at this moment, though, is my cardinal family in the courtyard. I'm blessed to have at least two cardinal families, one in the back yard and one in the courtyard. The female cardinal in the courtyard is the real mistress of this house -- we all live and work here to care for her domicile. She has a favorite perch on the metal bars of my cellar windows where she pecks at her reflection in the glass. Recently, though, I've watched her and her mate clamber up into the folds of my climbing rose bush. Over and over they've made their way amidst the leaves and between the thorns. Now, I know why. She's sitting on a nest filled with three precious eggs.

I wonder if cardinals are like my geese, who return to my pond each year to hatch and raise their young. I hope so. They add the song to the fragrance and color that is spring here on the hill.

My Bower of Roses

 

The buds of hundreds of rose blooms seem to reinforce the song that echoes from my hill: "Christ is risen from the tomb." These fragrant glorious flowers bursting forth from their own winter tomb this week fill my gardens with the joy of new life.

I find these words from Robert Frost capture the story of my house and my love for my roses. Enjoy!

Asking For Roses

A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master,
With doors that none but the wind ever closes,
Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster;
It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses.

I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary;
'I wonder,' I say, 'who the owner of those is.'
'Oh, no one you know,' she answers me airy,
'But one we must ask if we want any roses.'

So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly
There in the hush of the wood that reposes,
And turn and go up to the open door boldly,
And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses.

'Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?'
'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses.
'Pray, are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you!
'Tis summer again; there's two come for roses.

'A word with you, that of the singer recalling--
Old Herrick: a saying that every maid knows is
A flower unplucked is but left to the falling,
And nothing is gained by not gathering roses.'

We do not loosen our hands' intertwining
(Not caring so very much what she supposes),
There when she comes on us mistily shining
And grants us by silence the boon of her roses.

Reflections on Pascha

Life very seldom offers you like-minded soul mates, but I have a tiny handful. One of those dear friends is also a writer, singer, historian, home-schooling mom who blogs regularly at Anam Cara, which appropriately translates from the Gaelic as Soul Mate. Her reflections on our Pascha service cannot be added to or improved, so I'm sharing her words and photos here below. If you have the opportunity to participate in an Orthodox Christian Easter (Pascha) service, I strongly encourage you to do so. Christos Anesti!

And Life Reigns...

 

The lights are dim.  Candles flicker.  An expectant hush lays over all the people.  The mourning has been heavy.  The fast has been hard.  But tonight...tonight victory!  A tingle of anticipation is in the air.  "Blessed is our God always: now and ever and unto ages of ages."  And so it begins...

The familiar words of the Trisagion prayers and Psalm 51 usher us into the Presence.  Odes are chanted and passages are read revisiting the perplexing paradox of the Giver of Life contained in a tomb. One can hear the rumble of triumph beginning to build even now with passages about Christ's descent into Hades.  These evocative words capture my imagination: (Christ speaking to His mother)  "And the gatekeepers of Hades trembled at beholding me clothed with a robe spattered with revenge..." 

All lights are then extinguished, save the eternal light burning on the altar.  In darkness, we pray.  The priest lights a candle from the eternal light and, in turn offers light to the other priests and deacons while he sings, "Come ye take light from the light that is never overtaken by the night.  Come glorify the Christ risen from the dead."  I wish you could hear it.  It is so lovely.  And each of us takes light from one another until the church is filled with it.  Faces glow with reflected radiance, and I wonder if this is what our faces always look like to Him.  The priests lead us in a candlelit processional out the doors and around the church accompanied by the ringing of bells.  When we return to the entrance, the doors are closed.

 As we stand in the cool night air, the priest reads from the gospel the story of the myrrh bearing women.  "Be not afraid; you seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: He is risen, He is not here."  We lift our candles toward the night sky and sing  "Christ is risen from the dead trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life."

 

The priests, who have been facing us, turn to face the closed doors.  Father Stephen pounds on the door and cries out, "Lift up your gates, O ye princes, and be lifted up, O eternal gates, and the King of Glory shall enter in."  From within the darkened church a voice shouts, "Who is the King of Glory?"  Father Stephen answers, "The Lord who is strong and mighty; the Lord Mighty in battle."  I realize I am trembling from the intensity of this moment.  Three times this is enacted.  Then the doors are flung open and we enter in joy.

Glory to thy Holy Resurrection O Lord.  Let us cleanse our senses that we may behold Christ shining like lightening with the unapproachable light of Resurrection, that we may hear Him say openly rejoice while we sing to him the hymn of victory and triumph.

At this point, the service becomes a pastiche of jubilation.  The priests carry the censor, with its wonderful bells, up and down the aisle shouting out "Christ is risen!!" in a variety of languages, to which we respond, "Christ is risen indeed!!"  There are songs of joy, triumphant readings, and St. John Chrysostom's lovely Paschal homily.  All this leads seamlessly and elegantly into the Divine Liturgy.  After Divine Liturgy, we feast.  And the glory of the resurrection fills our hearts and our stomachs.  We laugh and we love.  And Life reigns.

*The title and final sentence of the post are excerpted from St. John Chrysostom's homily.  They were the words I was seeking, but could not find.  All other quotes are lifted directly from the Paschal service.      

Thank you, Shelia, for the beautiful description of a glorious evening. Gentle reader, I encourage you to read her words regularly. 

 

The lights are dim.  Candles flicker.  An expectant hush lays over all the people.  The mourning has been heavy.  The fast has been hard.  But tonight...tonight victory!  A tingle of anticipation is in the air.  "Blessed is our God always: now and ever and unto ages of ages."  And so it begins...

The familiar words of the Trisagion prayers and Psalm 51 usher us into the Presence.  Odes are chanted and passages are read revisiting the perplexing paradox of the Giver of Life contained in a tomb. One can hear the rumble of triumph beginning to build even now with passages about Christ's descent into Hades.  These evocative words capture my imagination: (Christ speaking to His mother)  "And the gatekeepers of Hades trembled at beholding me clothed with a robe spattered with revenge..." 

All lights are then extinguished, save the eternal light burning on the altar.  In darkness, we pray.  The priest lights a candle from the eternal light and, in turn offers light to the other priests and deacons while he sings, "Come ye take light from the light that is never overtaken by the night.  Come glorify the Christ risen from the dead."  I wish you could hear it.  It is so lovely.  And each of us takes light from one another until the church is filled with it.  Faces glow with reflected radiance, and I wonder if this is what our faces always look like to Him.  The priests lead us in a candlelit processional out the doors and around the church accompanied by the ringing of bells.  When we return to the entrance, the doors are closed.

 As we stand in the cool night air, the priest reads from the gospel the story of the myrrh bearing women.  "Be not afraid; you seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: He is risen, He is not here."  We lift our candles toward the night sky and sing  "Christ is risen from the dead trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life."

 

The priests, who have been facing us, turn to face the closed doors.  Father Stephen pounds on the door and cries out, "Lift up your gates, O ye princes, and be lifted up, O eternal gates, and the King of Glory shall enter in."  From within the darkened church a voice shouts, "Who is the King of Glory?"  Father Stephen answers, "The Lord who is strong and mighty; the Lord Mighty in battle."  I realize I am trembling from the intensity of this moment.  Three times this is enacted.  Then the doors are flung open and we enter in joy.

Glory to thy Holy Resurrection O Lord.  Let us cleanse our senses that we may behold Christ shining like lightening with the unapproachable light of Resurrection, that we may hear Him say openly rejoice while we sing to him the hymn of victory and triumph.

At this point, the service becomes a pastiche of jubilation.  The priests carry the censor, with its wonderful bells, up and down the aisle shouting out "Christ is risen!!" in a variety of languages, to which we respond, "Christ is risen indeed!!"  There are songs of joy, triumphant readings, and St. John Chrysostom's lovely Paschal homily.  All this leads seamlessly and elegantly into the Divine Liturgy.  After Divine Liturgy, we feast.  And the glory of the resurrection fills our hearts and our stomachs.  We laugh and we love.  And Life reigns.

*The title and final sentence of the post are excerpted from St. John Chrysostom's homily.  They were the words I was seeking, but could not find.  All other quotes are lifted directly from the Paschal service.      

Thank you, Shelia, for the beautiful description of a glorious evening. Gentle reader, I encourage you to read her words regularly. 

Creation Sings

It's been an action-filled two weeks for me. I've been privileged to participate in the Easter services at my home church last week as well as to be a worshipper in the Pascal services at my neighborhood Orthodox church this week. For these many days, I've been intimately aware of the events that led up to the Resurrection of the Messiah, immersed in the commemorative services. Choirs sing, men and women of God pray and read the Scriptures, and worshippers unite in their adoration of the Lamb. I find it God's perfect timing that today, as I scurry back and forth between the 4th and 5th services in the last 24 hours, I see that the first of my periennial flowers has burst into bloom. How appropriate that it is clothed in purple majesty -- perhaps in honor of our risen Lord?

Last week as I rose before dawn to prepare for Easter services, I enjoyed one of the most beautiful sunrises of my life. Not only was the eastern sky a thing of beauty for my eyes, but it also seemed that the full moon, hanging in the western sky, stalled to get a glimpse of the Resurrection sunrise as well.

O Thou who coverest thy high places with the waters,

Who settest the sand as a bound to the sea

And dost uphold all things:

The sun sings thy praises,

The moon gives thee glory,

Every creature offers a hymn to thee,

His author and creator, for ever.

-- From the Lenten Triodion

 

Glory to Thee, Our God, Glory to Thee.

 

More Easter sunrise photos here.

Today He is Suspended on the Tree

 

 

Today He is suspended upon the Tree He who suspended the earth upon the waters.

With a crown of thorns is He arrayed who is the King of the angels.

In the purple of mockery is He wrapped about Who wrappeth the heavens with clouds.

He was smitten who, in the Jordan, delivered Adam.
The Groom of the Church was fastened with nails
and the Son of the Virgin was pierced with a spear.
Thy suffering we adore, O Christ.

Show us also Thy glorious resurrection.

 

-- traditional Byzantine hymn

The Descent of the Dove

My backyard serves as the home for dozens of birds throughout the year. Cardinals, bluebirds, blue jays, even hummingbirds flit and forage among the greenery here on the hill. I love to hear their varying melodies, to watch their earnest nest-building, to anticipate their fledglings. This season I hear a new call in the yard as a pair of mourning doves have settled amongst the shrubs. They preen and sing on the wall beside my back porch. Their song is rhythmic, peaceful, and soothing, a soft coo-ing.

My very Irish grandparents were superstitious about birds and flowers. One never gave my grandmother (or mother) asters as they are the flower of death. Likewise, one never encourages mourning doves to settle on one's porch as they are harbinger's of disaster and death, at least according to Irish folklore. However, I prefer to cling to other interpretations of the appearance of my dove family. In the ancient Eastern world, home to the earliest Celts, doves expressed love and were often given as offerings to the many goddesses of love. My dove couple are clearly in love with each other. I hope they were drawn here because of the love here in my own house.

But, most obviously, doves represent the presence of the Spirit of God. The Scripture-writers recounted that the Spirit sometimes assumed the physical appearance of a dove, from the account of Noah through the accounts of Christ's baptism and transfiguration. Medieval folklore asserted that a dove was the only animal that the devil couldn't harm. As such, many families kept doves, both for their theoretical protection as well as for the sustenance they provided.

My doves are a welcome addition to my family. They remind me to focus on the things of God -- His love, His peace, His song in my heart.

To Be(lieve) or Not To Be(lieve)

This spring season I have the great joy to participate in worship services that remember Christ's resurrection on both the Western calendar as well as the Eastern calendar. Last week, my home church asked me to write a script and play a role in the retelling of the story of those of Christ's followers who found His tomb empty. Yesterday was a glorious day as we participated in 5 services with over 5000 people who were seeking to know and honor the Risen Lord. This week, I am worshipping in the Holy Week services with my friends who are Orthodox Christians. I'm listening to the podcasts of Father Thomas Hopko, my theological mentor, as he provides his listeners with teachings to help them focus on the joy of worshipping the Saviour.

Last week as I prepared for Easter and wrote our script, rehearsed the action, and then presented the story at my home church, I found a thought nagging around in the very back of my mind. Here I am, playing the role of a follower of Christ who doesn't know what to think about His tomb being empty. I saw Him tortured, put to death, and buried. How can a logically-minded person grasp the possibility that the Messiah rose from the grave? Most importantly, I confronted the conundrum -- if I had really been the woman I portrayed in the drama, would I have believed He conquered Death?

Today, Father Tom discusses Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and he points out that many of those who waved laurels of victory and welcomed Christ as King into Jerusalem would just a few days later be in the crowd that condemned Him and screamed for His crucifixion.

As a rationalistic 21st-century Christian, I like to think I would be on the "good" side, that I would instantly believe that the Son of God had triumphed over the grave. But would I have believed so readily? Or would I be more like Peter, who denied that he knew Christ? Or would I be like Thomas, who had to put his hand on the nail prints in the hand of Christ? Would I need to have an awe-striking angel send me away from the Land of the Dead into the Land of the Living? Or would I have been like PIlate, who washed his hands of the entire matter?

Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he dies, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives in and believes in Me shall never die. Do you believe this?" She said to Him, "Yes, Lord; I believe that You are the Christ, the Son of God" (John 11:25-27).

Would you have believed? Do you believe?

Mysteries

Ineffably, the Word became Flesh and dwelt among us.

Ineffably, bread and wine become the Broken Body and Shed Blood of Christ.

 

The Uncontainable Word permitted the Theotokos to contain His Presence within her womb.

The Uncontainable One permitted mortal flesh to clothe His essence.

The Uncontainable One calls on me to touch and consume His broken body --

     to contain that which is uncontainable, to drink His blood and feel the liquid flow into

     the core of my body.

 

Such are the mysteries of God--

     that the awesome power that holds the stars and planets in their courses deigns to feed me

     and fill me with Himself.