Daily Dose of Orthodoxy

[PennyDreadful]

Nativity Kontakion, Tone 3

Today the Virgin gives birth to the Transcendent One,
And the earth offers a cave to the Unapproachable One!
Angels with shepherds glorify Him!
The Wise Men journey with the star,
Since for our sake the Eternal God was born as a Little Child!

Christ Is Risen! Glorify Him!

[Strategos]

Hopefully no one will object to a non-EO who loves the church fathers posting an excerpt

The Perpetual Virginity of Blessed Mary -St. Jerome

...Add, if you like Helvidius, the other humiliations of nature, the womb for nine months growing larger, the sickness, the delivery, the blood, the swaddling-clothes. Picture to yourself the infant in the enveloping membranes. Introduce into your picture the hard manger, the wailing of the infant, the circumcision on the eighth day, the time of purification, so that he may be proved to be unclean. We do not blush, we are not put to silence. The greater the humiliations He endured for me, the more I owe Him. And when you have given every detail, you will be able to produce nothing more shameful than the cross, which we confess, in which we believe, and by which we triumph over our enemies...

© source where applicable

[furay]

Hopefully no one will object to a non-EO who loves the church fathers posting an excerpt

Absolutely not! Thank you for those very moving words from St Jerome.

[George Blaisdell]

Absolutely not! Thank you for those very moving words from St Jerome.

Roger that!
Arsenios

[George Blaisdell]

By an anonymous Orthodox author. [The best kind!]

A boy once approached his father, ‘Old man, why do you fast?’ The father stood silent, bringing heart and mind together, and then:

‘Beloved boy, I fast to know what it is I lack.

For day by day I sit in abundance, and

all is well before me;

I want not, I suffer not, and I

lack but that for which I invent a need.

But my heart is empty of true joy,

filled, yet overflowing with dry waters.

There is no room left for love.

I have no needs, and so my needs are never met,

no longings, and so my desires are never fulfilled.

Where all the fruits of the earth could dwell, I have

filled the house with dust and clouds;

It is full, so I am content—

But it is empty, and so I weep.



‘Thus I fast, beloved, to know the

dust in which I dwell.

I take not from that which I might take,

for in its absence I am left empty,

and what is empty stands ready to be

filled.

I turn from what I love, for my love is barren,

and by it I curse the earth.

I turn from what I love, that I may purify my loving,

and move from curse to blessing.



‘From my abundance I turn to want,

as the soldier leaves the comfort of home,

of family and love,

to know the barrenness of war.

For it is only amongst the fight, in the

torture of loss, in the fire of battle,

that lies are lost and the blind man

clearly sees.

In hunger of body and mind, I see

the vanity of food,

for I have loved food as food,

and have never been fed.

In weary, waking vigil I see

the vanity of sleep,

for I have embraced sleep as desire,

and have never found rest.

In sorrow, with eyes of tears I see

the vanity of pleasure,

for I have treasured happiness above all,

and have never known joy.



‘I fast, beloved child, to crush the wall

that is my self;

For I am not who I am, just as these passions

are not treasures of gold but of clay.

I fast to die, for it is not the living who are

raised, but the dead.

I fast to crucify my desires, for He who was

crucified was He who lived,

and He who conquered,

and He who lives forever.’

__________________________________________-

[George Blaisdell]

The boy approached his father, gently, ‘Old man, why do you sorrow?’ The old man softened his tears:

‘Beloved, my sorrow is my joy.

Where there is no weeping, there is

no rejoicing,

And he who has not sorrowed

has never known delight.



‘I sorrow for the darkness that

I see within,

for the depth of the divide I have

cast between my mind and my heart.

I sorrow, for I have become

a source of sorrow,

and if I do not weep

I shall never be healed.



‘What God has blessed, I have squandered,

and therefore all the mountains weep.

Shall I yet rejoice?

See me, an aged man of squandered days,

a vessel of life confined to death—

yet merry, at peace, rejoicing!



‘No, beloved, let us weep.

Let us know sorrow, for then

we know ourselves, then we see.

No more in ignorance, but in truth

let us walk,

acknowledging our woe,

weeping with the earth.

When its sorrow is our sorrow,

then the weight shall crush my bones

—and crushed, I shall be reborn.



‘Sorrow is the door, dear boy,

the door of joy pure and true.

With every tear we shed,

we rejoice more fully,

exist more wholly,

love more purely.’



And with this, the old man’s words ceased, his mouth was still. And as the tears brimmed within his eyes, his joy radiated as the sun.

___________________________________________

[George Blaisdell]

The boy approached his father, sat and questioned, ‘Old man, why are you alone? Why your solitude?’ The elder sighed, his breath light as the sky:

‘All the world is one, beloved,

kept entire in the hand of God.

Solitude is an illusion,

a fleeting vision;

for when one is still

he is never alone.



‘And yet the world turns,

turns with haste toward its ends—

fleeting, fallen, manmade all.

And we, too, turn,

glancing here and there, with

vision rushed, blurred;

never one, but divided.



‘I am alone, beloved, for the sake

of our communion.

Only in solitude is stillness born,

only there is it nurtured—

that great gift by which we live.

Divine silence can be found but

when the heart is still:

alone in its quest,

alone with God.

Thus solitude brings quiet,

and quiet the stillness where

whispers cease,

and here, the voice of God.



‘Hear me well, dear boy:

my solitude is my communion;

alone, we are together.

In solitude I see Christ whole,

for I am wholly His.

By this vision I am transformed,

my eyes at last beholding Life,

and Life reviving the blood of my veins.

I am Adam, wailing alone before the gates.

I quiet my tears to hear God beside me

—and am healed.



‘Thus my solitude, thus am I alone:

to know the depth of Christ within

and heal all that is without.

For when in solitude I come to know God,

I am united to Him in love,

united to Him who fills all,

And my solitude becomes my communion,

as alone I embrace the world.’

[George Blaisdell]

The boy knelt at his father’s knees, ‘Dear man, how do you pray?’ The old man sighed a gentle sigh, smiling in his eyes. All questions came to this. Here the great meeting place of life, and of its nature the elder spoke:

‘Beloved, prayer is life,

and apart from it is only darkness.

It is the breath of the soul which yearns for God,

joining with His breath,

becoming one.

Prayer is the only light by which men can see,

the only vision they are called to adore,

for it is union with God

and in this union—everything.



‘Prayer is the quiet of a storm-tossed will,

an intellect guarded from the seas,

a mind centered upon God Most High.

It is stillness wrought in the midst of motion,

in which all that moves is God,

and with Him, all the world.

Prayer knows no words, if it is true,

for words belittle the presence of the Divine,

confound the conversation of Him who is all in all.

True prayer is beyond words,

transcending speech and thought,

communing with One who is greater than these,

Who works beyond them,

and in Whose presence they are no longer required.

Prayer is the stillness of the tongue,

of the mind, of the heart,

that God and these may come together

apart from words—one.



‘To pray, beloved, is to gather with Christ

at the shores of eternity;

To realize that these shores are within,

manifested in each human heart—

the infinite contained in the finite.

The One who came as Man and dwelt in a womb,

now dwells in the very heart of man.

Prayer is His energy, His activity,

vibrant in the human soul,

alive through His very Spirit,

stirring life to new heights

in the soul that has become quiet,

still enough to feel His breath.



‘We pray in our weakness, beloved,

for it makes us strong;

We pray in our strength,

for it makes us humble;

We pray in height and depth,

for prayer is our center—

It is the heart and nature of being,

the very root of spiritual life.

We pray when we know not how to pray,

for then it is not we,

but Christ who prays in us;

and the groanings of His Spirit

show the way.



‘To pray, dear child, simply sit.

Ask for the blessing of Him

with Whom you wish to commune.

Call Him near to you,

for without Him you have already lost.

Then close your eyes, child,

and banish every thought—

the good as well as the bad.

Whisper out only for His mercy,

and you shall receive it.

Let your heart be still,

Let your thoughts descend within,

for in the heart is Christ,

and only His wings will give you flight.

Then rest there, beloved,

in that place of still silence:

It is time for the Lord to act.



‘Prayer shall move you,

if only you will let it.

It will bear you to new heights,

transform your life and being;

But it will cost you your life,

your mind, your heart—

everything.

It will take of your time and energy,

it will consume your life;

But there is no reward greater than prayer.

So work, child.

Open your heart—and pray.’

[George Blaisdell]

The above three poems were taken from:
http://www.monachos.net/monasticism/ascetic.shtml
From an article entitled;
"Ascetic: reflections on the Way of Self Sacrifice"

[Strategos]

Two selections of John of Damascus.

On Holy Images

Of old, God the incorporeal and uncircumscribed was never depicted. Now, however, when God is seen clothed in flesh, and conversing with men, I make an image of the God whom I see. I do not worship matter, I worship the God of matter, who became matter for my sake, and deigned to inhabit matter, who worked out my salvation through matter. I will not cease from honouring that matter which works my salvation. I venerate it, though not as God. How could God be born out of lifeless things? And if God's body is God by union, it is immutable. The nature of God remains the same as before, the flesh created in time is quickened by, a logical and reasoning soul.

I honour all matter besides, and venerate it. Through it, filled, as it were, me. Was not the with a divine power and grace, my salvation has come to thrice happy and thrice blessed wood of the Cross matter? Was not the sacred and holy mountain of Calvary matter? What of the life-giving rock, the Holy Sepulchre, the source of our resurrection: was it not matter? Is not the most holy book of the Gospels matter? Is not the blessed table matter which gives us the Bread of Life' Are not the gold and silver matter, out of which crosses and altar-plate and chalices are made? And before all these things, is not the body and blood of our Lord matter? Either do away with the veneration and worship due to all these things, or submit to the tradition of the Church in the worship of images, honouring God and His friends, and following in this the grace of the Holv Spirit.

© source where applicable

"Concerning Images" from "Exposition of the Orthodox Faith"

Often, doubtless, when we have not the Lord's passion in mind and see the image of Christ's crucifixion, His saving passion is brought back to remembrance, and we fall down and worship not the material but that which is imaged: just as we do not worship the material of which the Gospels are made, nor the material of the Cross, but that which these typify. For wherein does the cross, that typifies the Lord, differ from a cross that does not do so? It is just the same also in the case of the Mother of the Lord. For the honour which we give to her is referred to HIm Who was made of her incarnate. And similarly also the brave acts of holy men stir us up to be brave and to emulate and imitate their valour and to glorify God. For as we said, the honour that is given to the best of fellow-servants is a proof of good-will towards our common Lady, and the honour rendered to the image passes over to the prototype. But this is an unwritten tradition, just as is also the worshipping towards the East and the worship of the Cross, and very many other similar things.

© source where applicable

One more selection just to clarify the last line "and the worship of the Cross"

"Concerning the Cross and further concerning Faith" from "Exposition of the Orthodox Faith"

Moreover we worship even the image of the precious and life-giving Cross, although made of another tree, not honouring the tree (God forbid) but the image as a symbol of Christ...It behoves us, then, to worship the sign of Christ. For wherever the sign may be, there also will He be. But it does not behove us to worship the material of which the image of the Cross is composed, even though it be gold or precious stones, after it is destoyed, if that should happen. Everything, therefore, that is deticated to God we worship, conferring the adoration on Him.

© source where applicable

[George Blaisdell]

XV



White doves fly over my blue lake,
Like white angels over the blue heaven.
The doves would not be white
Nor would the lake be blue,
If the great sun did not open its eye above them.



O my heavenly Mother,
Open Your eye in my soul,
So that I may see what is what--
So that I may see who is dwelling in my soul
And what sort of fruits are growing in her.



Without Your eye
I wander hopelessly through my soul
Like a wayfarer in the night,
In the night's indistinguishable gloom.
And the wayfarer in the night falls
And picks himself up,
And what he encounters along the way
He calls "events."



You are the only event of my life, O lamp of my soul.
When a child scurries to the arms of his mother, events do not exist for him.
When a bride races to meet her bridegroom,
She does not see the flowers in the meadow,
Nor does she hear the rumbling of the storm,
Nor does she smell the fragrance of the cypresses
Or sense the mood of the wild animals--
She sees only the face of her bridegroom;
She hears only the music from his lips;
She smells only his soul.
When love goes to meet love, no events befall it.
Time and space make way for love.



Aimless wanderers and loveless people
Have events and have history.
Love has no history
And history has no love.



When someone makes their way down a mountain
Or climbs up a mountain
Without knowing where he is going,
Events are imposed upon him
As though they were the aim of his journey.
Truly, events are the aim of the aimless
And the history of the pathless.



Therefore the aimless and the pathless
Are blocked by events and squabble with events.
But I tranquilly hasten to You,
Both up the mountain and down the mountain,
And despicable events angrily move out of the way
Of my footsteps.



If I were a stone and were rolling down a mountain,
I would not think about the stones against which I was banging,
But about the abyss at the bottom of the steep slope.



If I were a mountain stream,
I would not be thinking about my uneven course,
But about the lake that awaited me.



Truly terrifying is the abyss
Of those who are in love
With the events
That are dragging them downward.



O heavenly Mother,
My only love,
Set me free
From the slavery of events
And make me Your slave.



O most radiant Day,
Dawn in my soul,
So that I may see
The aim of my tangled path.



O Sun of suns,
The only event in the universe
That attracts my heart,
Illuminate my inner self,
So that I may see who has dared
To dwell there besides You--
So that I may eradicate from it
All the fruits that seem
Sweet from the outside,
But smell rotten
In their core.

[PennyDreadful]

His Eminence gave the most awesome sermon today. He first talked about righteousness. In Matthew 3, at Christ's baptism when John the Forerunner was in awe that Christ would ask him for baptism, Christ said "Permit it to be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness." The Bishop then said that if he were to ask ten of us for a definition for righteousness, we'd probably all have ten different answers. He said that God IS righteousness, He IS righteous, and cannot be otherwise, because righteousness means to be true to all that He is. How can WE be righteous?! When Christ said to John the Baptist that "it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness," He meant that mankind can't be anything other than what God made us to be. It was all in who Christ was, and who John was, that the former be baptized by the latter. I wish I had recorded it, but just think about the implications, all the meanings... so amazing.

The Bishop went on to talk about the blessing of the water. He said that we shouldn't view "Jordan water" as a magical remedy for everything. Fr. Alexander Schmemann of blessed memory said that a sacrament is an outer sign of an inner grace. Drinking the water, using it to bless our homes, and even such things as baptism, crossing ourselves, receiving the Eucharist are all empty and mean nothing without the inner transformation God demands of us (with His help, of course). Crossing yourself as a means of warding off demons and other such things the Orthodox do mean nothing and can't work without the inward knowledge that, in Christ, we are coming to salvation.

[George Blaisdell]

Prayers by the Lake

by Bishop Nikolai Velimirovic

Bishop Nikolai Velimirovic, a bishop of the Serbian Orthodox Church, is regarded by many as a saint yet to be canonized. Little by little his writings are being translated into English. He died in 1956. He is best known for The Prologue from Ochrid.
_____________________________________
I


"Who is that staring at me
Through all the stars in heaven
And all the creatures on earth?"



Cover your eyes, stars and creatures;
Do not look upon my nakedness.
Shame torments me enough
Through my own eyes.



What is there for you to see?
A tree of life that has been reduced
To a thorn on the road,
That pricks both itself and others.
What else-except a heavenly flame immersed in mud,
A flame that neither gives light nor goes out?



Plowmen, it is not your plowing that matters
But the Lord who watches.



Singers, it is not your singing that matters
But the Lord who listens.



Sleepers, it is not your sleeping that matters
But the Lord who wakens.



It is not the pools of water in the rocks around the lake that matter
But the lake itself.



What is all human time but a wave
That moistens the burning sand on the shore,
And then regrets that it left the lake,
Because it has dried up?



O stars and creatures,
Do not look at me with your eyes
But at the Lord.
He alone sees.
Look at Him
And you will see yourselves
In your homeland.



What do you see when you look at me?
A picture of your exile?
A mirror of your fleeting transitoriness?



O Lord, my beautiful veil,
Embroidered with golden seraphim,
Drape over my face
Like a veil over the face of a widow,
And collect my tears,
In which the sorrow of all Your creatures seethes.



O Lord, my beauty,
Come and visit me,
Lest I be ashamed of my nakedness—
Lest the many thirsty glances that are falling upon me
Return home thirsty.
__________________________________________________

[George Blaisdell]

II





Who put me in this bed of worms?
Who buried me in the dust,
To become a neighbor of snakes
And a banquet for worms?



Who pushed me off the high mountain,
To become a companion of bloodthirsty and godless men?



My sin and Your justice, O Lord.
My sin stretches from the creation of the world,
And it is swifter than Your justice.



I count my sins throughout my entire life,
Throughout the life of my father
And all the way back to the beginning of the world,
And I say: Truly, the name of the Lord's justice is mercy.



I bear the wounds of my fathers on myself-
Wounds that I myself was preparing
While I was still in my fathers—
And now they have all appeared on my soul,
Like a spotted hide on a giraffe,
Like a cloak of vicious scorpions that sting me.



Have mercy on me, O Lord,
Open the floodgate of the heavenly river of Your grace,
And cleanse me of leprous evil,
So that without this leprosy
I may dare to proclaim Your name
Before the other lepers
Without them ridiculing me.



At least raise me up by a head
Above the rotten stench of this bed of worms,
To inhale the incense of heaven and return to life.



At least raise me up as high as a palm tree
So I can laugh at the serpents chasing my heels.



O Lord, if there has been even one good deed
In the course of my earthly journey,
For the sake of that one deed
Deliver me from the companionship
Of bloodthirsty and godless men.



O Lord, my hope in despair.



O Lord, my strength in weakness.



O Lord, my light in darkness.



Place just one finger on my forehead
And I shall be raised.
Or, if I am too unclean for Your finger,
Let a single ray of light from Your kingdom
Shine upon me and raise me-
Raise me, from this bed of worms,
O my beloved Lord.

[George Blaisdell]

III





Are there days gone by, O man,
To which you would wish to return?
They all attracted you like silk,
And now remain behind you like a cobweb.
Like honey they greeted you,
Like stench you bade them farewell.
All were totally filled with illusion and sin.



See how all the pools of water in the moonlight resemble mirrors;
and how all the days that were lit up with your levity resemble mirrors.
But as you stepped from one day to the next,
the false mirrors cracked like thin ice,
and you waded through the water and mud.



Can a day that has a morning and an evening as doorways be a day?



O luminous Lord,
My soul is burdened with illusions and longs for one day—
For the day without doorways,
The day from which my soul has departed and sunk into the shifting shadows—
For Your day, which I used to call my day, when I was one with You.



Is there any happiness gone by, O man,
To which you would wish to return?



Of two morsels of the same sweetness
The second is the more trite.
You would turn your head away in boredom
From yesterday's happiness,
If it were set out on today's table.



Moments of happiness are given to you
Only in order to leave you longing for true happiness
In the bosom of the everhappy Lord;
And ages of unhappiness are given to you,
To waken you out of the drowsy dream of illusions.



O Lord, Lord, my only happiness,
Will You provide shelter for Your injured pilgrim?



O Lord, my ageless youth,
My eyes shall bathe in You
And shine more radiantly than the sun.



You carefully collect the tears of the righteous,
And with them You rejuvenate worlds.