Turning 50 at Seminary

On Thursday I reached the half-century milestone. In most ways this was a typical day at St. Vlad's for me, but it was special in some ways too. So I thought it might make for a good day-in-the-life post.

I got up at 6:30 and was in the chapel before 7:15. Since I was the morning reader this week, I had to arrive early to set up the Matins book and mark the Psalm verses and the Epistle reading, and then I looked over the readings until the bell rang at 7:30. Standing in the middle of the church, just behind the analogion, I intoned the Paschal Troparion three times, followed by the Trisagion Prayers. After the choir sang the Paschal Troparion three more times, I read Psalm 103. Then I stepped back to the congregation while the deacon and the men's choir did the Great Litany and the choir sang God is the Lord. During the third week of Easter season, we commemorate the Myrrh-bearing women and St. Joseph of Arimathea every day, so the choir sang their troparia at this point in the service. (Since the Arimathean is my patron saint, I enjoyed hearing hymns about him at every service this week!) After I read Psalms 27-29, I returned to the congregation until towards the end of Matins, when I read the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch from Acts 8. Following Matins, I had to help the student ecclesiarch put away the Matins books and set up the choir stands for Vespers.

I arrived late for breakfast in the refectory, which was the usual fare for a non-fasting weekday - scrambled eggs, pancakes, hash browns, fruit salad, assorted breads, and orange juice. After breakfast, we sang the last part "The Angel Cried," beginning with "Shine, shine," as we have after every meal since Pascha. After Father Stephen gave the blessing, he recognized my birthday and everyone sang "Many Years," the universal, all-purpose song for honoring people on their birthdays, name days, anniversaries, baptisms, chrismations, marriages, etc. in the Orthodox Church. Then I went to the kitchen and joined my meal crew in clearing tables, washing dishes, and putting things away. (My classmate Maggie, who normally works on another meal crew, had subbed for me for the pre-meal set-up since I was reading at Matins.) I had a few minutes left to go to the libarary and check my e-mail before class.

The Thursday morning class for first-year students is Pauline Epistles. We're currently on Romans, as we will be for the rest of the semester. Drawing a diagram on the board, Dr. Barnet reviewed the hermeneutic circle that produced the Gospels: early Christians, reflecting on Scripture (i.e., the Old Testament) in the light of the gospel (good news) of Christ's Passion and Resurrection, produced the written Gospels. He then returned to Romans, drawing on the work of Luke Timothy Johnson to examine the epistle in terms of the classical rhetorical form of diatribe.

My afternoon class, Integrating Seminar, is split into two sections. I am in the second section, which does not meet until 2:10. Until then, I continued my search for sources on the old Georgian Rite for my Church History paper. In Seminar we heard presentations from three students on the subject of self-control, drawing from the writings of St. John of Kronstadt and St. Gregory the Great. After class I made a cup of tea in the refectory and then walked back up the hill to North Dorm. I remotely accessed my desktop computer in my Maryland office, retrieved some files, and e-mailed them to myself. One file was a photo of myself for my application for the Albania mission (a hoop I have to jump through even though I have already been accepted). The other file was information on "the Rule of the Mother of God" - variations of the Rosary used by Eastern Christians - which I then e-mailed to another student for a project he is working on.

Then I hurried back to the chapel. I was to sing with the Byzantine Choir at Great Vespers for the eve of the Feast of St. George. Even though attendance is officially required of all students at daily Matins and Vespers, it is not enforced, so a lot of the OCA students skip the services when the Byzantine Choir, composed mostly of Antiochians, is scheduled to sing. But this day the chapel was packed for the feast. I got to free chant a sticheron for the Myrrh-bearers, a sticheron for St. George, and an aposticha verse. (Unfortunately, it had not occurred to me the request to chant the Troparion of St. Joseph of Arimathea. I made a mental note to do so at Liturgy the next morning.)

Back in the refectory at supper, I was pleased to see there would be ice cream for dessert! But that wasn't all. In the middle of supper, people suddenly started singing "Many Years," and my friend Tracy returned from the kitchen carrying a cake with five candles on it! I blew all the candles out, but one of them re-lit. Suspecting a trick, I blew again, and it stayed out. I was supposed to work the clean-up shift, in exchange for not having to do set-up at breakfast, but Maggie insisted on taking the rest of the supper shift for me so that I could enjoy my cake and ice cream without hurrying.

On Thursday evenings, I am auditing an Iconology class. We are learning to analyze Orthodox iconography in terms of its rhetorical content and its use by the church - a contrast to the more mystical and dogmatic approach popularized in recent decades by Ouspensky. We looked at innovation and development in iconography, focusing particularly on the introduction of pathos - the expression of emotion by the figures in icons. We then spent some time looking at icons that depict other icons, focusing on an elaborate icon of St. Luke painting the first icon of the Virgin Mary. It inserts the traditional icon of St. Luke writing the Gospel into the middle of the traditional icon of the Annunciation, resulting in an icon with a new narrative - Gabriel teaching Luke how to paint Mary. We concluded by looking at some strange icons and considering the limits of innovation in iconography.

After class I returned to the dorm, where my classmate Philip was waiting for me. We began learning how to play Starfleet Battles, a wargame set in the Star Trek universe. I was running a Federation starship against Philip's Klingon cruiser. It was 1 AM before we knew it, so we recorded our positions, intending to resume the game in the future.

But my day was not over yet. I knew the deadline was creeping up to send in my $100 deposit for the missiology class in Albania. The information about the class had trickled out in an un-systematic way, with a number of additions and corrections, and I had not yet collated it all in my mind. It was a good thing I checked - the deadline for sending in the full $500 cost of the class was only a week away!

I knew I would have to be in the chapel by 6:40 to prepare to read at the Liturgy for the feast of St. George, so I set my alarm for 6 AM and turned in.

Paschal Greetings

During the 39 days from Pascha until Ascension, we Orthodox Christians exchange the Paschal greeting: Christ is risen! Indeed, he is risen! To make it more interesting, we repeat it in many languages - most often the common Orthodox liturgical languages like Greek, Slavonic, Arabic, and Romanian, but occasionally in more obscure languages. In the past couple of weeks I have heard Albanian, Georgian, Syriac, and various native Alaskan languages, among others. But I also learned it in a couple of modern North American dialects:

Urban-American
Word up!
True dat!

Texan
He's back.
Yup.

If you know any other non-serious variations on the Paschal greeting, please post them as responses.

Annunciation Update

Greetings on the Feast of the Annunciation! I am celebrating by listening to Kate Campbell's album Rosaryville, whose thematic threads include Louisiana, the Blessed Virgin Mary, motherhood, and the color blue. I have twice heard Campbell, a southern, Christian singer-songwriter, live, and I have most of her albums on CD. Rosaryville was my first exposure to her, and it is still my favorite of her albums.

Today is a liturgical rather than academic day here at St. Vlad's. Metropolitan Jonah is spending the whole day with us. We had a two-hour hierarchical Matins service this morning. It was impressive to see 11 priests lined up in front of the metropolitan, all in blue phelonia. Next, at 3 PM, is the Ninth Hour, followed by a hierarchical Vesperal Liturgy at which two students will be ordained - one to the priesthood, another to the diaconate. Then, at Compline at 9 PM, Metropolitan Jonah will receive the monastic vows of one of the students and tonsure him as a stavrophore.

Tomorrow will be a final academic day before we launch into Holy Week. Our schedule for the week will be, essentially, the full cursus of services from the Typikon - the kind of thing that is normally found only at a monastery. Bright Week, by contrast, has few services and no classes - it is our spring break.

I had been planning to make a visit to my home parish for Agape Vespers and Bright Monday, with a stop on the way back to watch the final game of the NCAA basketball tournament with my brother's family. But this year Agape Vespers was moved from the customary 6 PM to noon, which will make it impossible for me to attend, so I will probably just cancel the whole trip and stay on campus to study.

I am looking into some exciting possibilities for this summer. I have applied to take an intensive three-week summer course on the missiology of Archbishop Anastasios of Albania, which is being offered by the Missions Institute of Orthodox Christianity and OCMC. It will include two weeks in Albania! There were 16 applicants for 10 slots, so it's not a sure thing. I am also considering studying Syriac at Notre Dame for three or six weeks. And it looks like my institute might have some work for me, which would take me back to the DC area for at least a few weeks. I also hope to fit in a long road trip to visit friends and family I haven't seen in a while.

I just added a two new features to the blog, which you'll find in the right-hand column. First is OLD POSTS, BACK IN SEASON, which collects links to my past posts that are appropriate to the current season. It currently lists my old posts related to Lent, Holy Week, and Pascha. Second is a list of my followers. Yes, believe it or not, I have followers - or at least my blog does!

P.S. While I was writing the above, I received word that I have been accepted to the missiology course!

Schmemann on Fasting and Liturgy

Lent began yesterday for us Byzantines, and Ash Wednesday is tomorrow. So it's an appropriate time to think about fasting.

On Sunday at coffee hour I learned about this article by Fr. Alexander Schmemann, "Fast and Liturgy." He argues, based on the typikon, that the length of the Eucharistic fast was intended to vary with the character of the occasion. The Divine Liturgy was to begin at the third hour on Sundays, the fourth hour on Saturdays, and the fifth hour on other days when it was celebrated. Given that the Eucharistic fast was to begin at midnight, it would be longer on days of a less festal character.

On a few particularly solemn days, the Liturgy was not to be celebrated until after Vespers - either a Vesperal Liturgy or a Presanctified Liturgy. On a day of strict fasting (such as the Beheading of St. John the Baptist or the Exaltation of the Holy Cross), there was to be no celebration of the Liturgy at all, and thus it would have to be postponed until the start of the next liturgical day, which began with Vespers. (My acquaintance at coffee hour said these would originally have been Presanctified Liturgies before such services were restricted to Lent.)

The Christian life is defined by the complementary poles of fasting and feasting. We pray and keep vigil, watching and waiting for our Lord's parousia. But we also experience a foretaste of the messianic banquet in the Eucharist. So we fast in preparation for feasting. We keep a Eucharistic fast before every Liturgy, and we keep a season of fasting before major feasts.

Of course Schmemann says it better. Read the article.

My Brain in Church

Well, not my brain. The Anonymous God-blogger's brain. (Click on the picture to enlarge it.)

The Head of John Chrysostom

On Friday I joined a few fellow seminarians on an expedition to St. Nicholas Cathedral in Manhattan, where they celebrated the Feast of the Three Hierarchs (Old Calendar) with a Divine Liturgy and Molieben in the presence of the head of St. John Chrysostom. The head, which has been in Russia since 1655, was brought from Moscow to New York City last week for a short visit. It spent most of the week at the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Sign and was then brought to St. Nicholas on Thursday evening.

St. John Chrysostom's second exile resulted from the empress Eudoxia's opposition to his efforts to curb the decadence of the clergy and nobility of Constantinople. After the empress had a silver statue of herself erected near the cathedral, Chrysostom boldly preached against her: "Again Herodias dances. Again she seeks the head of John." I mused on the irony that we were once again seeking the head of John.

The relic is stored in a cubical gold reliquary, with a bit of the skull protruding through a four-inch circular opening on the top. We were able to venerate (i.e., kiss) the skull before the Liturgy and again after the Molieben.

The services were almost entirely in Slavonic (I heard one litany and one prayer in English). So I spent a good deal of the time looking at the iconography, applying some skills from the iconography class I'm auditing. The iconography, mostly in pastel colors, shows clear Art Nouveau influence. It would have been right at home in a Roman Catholic cathedral of its era (the early 20th century).

On the south side of the nave is a large relic case containing 50 or so relics. If you've ever wondered how to spell St. Raphael of Brooklyn in Slavonic, this is the place to look.

Schmemann on Fundamentalism and Secularism

In his essay, "Worship in a Secular Age," Father Alexander Schmemann traces the origin of secularism to a medieval Western theological error. In condemning Berengarius of Tours for his teaching that "because the presence of Christ in the eucharistic elements is 'mystical' or 'symbolic,' it is not real," the Lateran Council simply reversed the formula and proclaimed that because Christ's presence in the Eucharist is real, it is not mystical or symbolic. Both sides in the debate accepted the mutual exclusivity of verum and mystice, which undermined "the fundamental Christian understanding of creation in terms of its ontological sacramentality." Schmemann continues:

Let us not be mistaken, however. This Western theological framework was in fact accepted by the Orthodox East also, and since the end of the patristic age our theology has been indeed much more "Western" than "Eastern." If secularism can be properly termed a Western Heresy, the very fruit of the basic Western "deviation," our own scholastic theology has also been permeated with it for centuries, and this in spite of violent denunciations of Rome and papism. And it is indeed ironic, but not at all accidental, that psychologically the most "Western" among the Orthodox today are precisely the ultra-conservative "Super-Orthodox," whose whole frame of mind is legalistic and syllogistic on the one hand, and is made up, on the other hand, of those very "dichotomies" whose introduction into Christian thought is the "original sin" of the West. Once these dichotomies are accepted, it does not matter, theologically speaking, whether one "accepts" the world, as in the case of the Western enthusiast of "secular Christianity," or "rejects" it, as in the case of the "Super-Orthodox" prophet of apocalyptic doom. The optimistic positivism of the one, and the pessimistic negativism of the other are, in fact, two sides of the same coin. Both, by denying the world its natural "sacramentality" and radically opposing the "natural" to the "supernatural," make the world grace-proof, and ultimately lead to secularism.

From For the Life of the World, by Alexander Schmemann, pp. 128-130.

Vacation Reading

I am free for a whole month between semesters – my longest period without work or classes in 15 years. While I have been spending quite a bit of time with my family, especially playing with my nephews and niece, I have managed to get in some reading, as well.

I wanted to get a jump on my reading for next semester without over-exerting my brain while recovering from final exams and relaxing with my family. So I started with Orthodox Christians in America, by John H. Erickson. It is written at a junior high level, but it will be required reading for Church History this coming semester, as it is the only book ever written on American Orthodox History. It gives a solid overview of the subject, but leaves a lot of details to be filled in.

An excellent place to begin filling in those details is my favorite podcast, Matthew Namee’s "American Orthodox History" on Ancient Faith Radio. Before I left campus, I loaded up my MP3 player with podcasts from AFR to listen to on the road, including the two most recent episodes of "American Orthodox History." The last episode was especially interesting. Namee interviewed Nicholas Chapman about his research on members of the Ludwell and Paradise families of Virginia and Britain, who were secretly Orthodox in the 18th century. Members of these families were tied to the founding fathers of the United States, the governments of Russia and the UK, the Non-Jurors, and the Jacobites.

Next on my reading list was the children's novelette Odd and the Frost Giants, Neil Gaiman’s take on the world of Norse myth: "In a village in ancient Norway lives a boy named Odd, and he's had some very bad luck: His father perished in a Viking expedition; a tree fell on and shattered his leg; the endless freezing winter is making villagers dangerously grumpy. Out in the forest Odd encounters a bear, a fox, and an eagle – three creatures with a strange story to tell. Now Odd is forced on a stranger journey than he had imagined."

Having recovered from final exams, I was ready to tackle something a bit more challenging. A few days ago I began reading Dragon’s Wine and Angel’s Bread: The Teaching of Evagrius Ponticus on Anger and Meekness. The subtitle says it all. Since anger is a recurring theme of my confessions, this book went to the top of my reading list even before it was published. I plan to read this one slowly in order to digest it all.

Other books I am carrying around in my book bag include The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire, by J. M. Hussey, another book on the syllabus for Church History in the spring semester; Mary for Time and Eternity: Essays on Mary and Ecumenism, which includes an article by my friend Virginia M. Kimball that she has been pushing me to read for a couple of years; The Challenge of Our Past: Studies in Orthodox Canon Law and Church History, another book by John H. Erickson, which is on the syllabus for Liturgical Theology; The Cappadocians, by Anthony Meredith; and finally, another book for fun: Arabian Fairy Tales, by Amina Shah. I hope to get to a couple of these before I return to campus.

As We Come Out of Darkness

Having been raised Methodist, I think of singing as an essential part of church. The biggest thing that initially drew me to both Anglo-Catholicism and Orthodoxy was the principle of a liturgy that is mostly sung. During my Anglo-Catholic years, it took me a long time to get used to the Low Mass, a service with no singing at all (though I eventually grew to love serving at Low Mass more than any other service).

Nearly all of my pre-Orthodox singing, however, was done as a member of the congregation. I chose both my Anglo-Catholic parish and my Orthodox parish mostly because their respective congregations were participants in the singing, not just an audience for the choir. (One might argue that I was a member of the choir when I was chanting psalms as a vocationer with the Benedictines, but in a monastery the monks are really both choir and congregation.) I have written previously about how I got into chanting after I became Orthodox, so I won't repeat that story here.

Singing at Seminary

After patristics, my most demanding class in my first semester at St. Vlad's was liturgical music. It was an easy class for the OCA students with choir experience, but not so easy for the rest of us, especially the Antiochians. I've never been much of a choral singer - I have trouble hearing parts other than the melody. And, to the extent that I have sung in choir at all, it has been as a tenor. (When I was a freshman, my music major friends told me I was a tenor, and I always assumed they knew what they were talking about.) But in my voice test at St. Vlad's, I learned that I am actually a baritone. And then I was assigned to the mixed choir, where the only parts for men are tenor and bass, so I struggled to sing bass. In addition to singing at Matins or Vespers four days a week, plus Vigil every other Saturday and Liturgy most Sundays, I had to attend two choir practices and a music lecture each week. All together, that came to about ten hours a week, not counting the biweekly music quizzes, which were held outside of class time and required a lot of preparation.

During my first semester at St. Vlad's, the thing I missed most was chanting at Matins every week at my home parish. So I was really looking forward to being back for Matins on Christmas Eve and the Sundays before and after, chanting familiar Byzantine music. The two Sundays were to be tones 3 and 4, no less - my two favorite tones!

But I learned a few weeks ago that Matins on the Sunday after Christmas would be displaced by a baptism, and Christmas Eve would be complicated by the presence of the bishop. So I placed most of my hopes on the Sunday before Christmas. Unfortunately, thanks to last weekend's big snow storm, Matins was cancelled and I was snowed in at my brother's house (the first of several weather-related complications of my Christmas vacation). So Christmas Eve would be my only opportunity to chant.

The Stolen Canon

At Holy Cross, our normal schedule on December 24 is Royal Hours at 9 AM and Matins at 10 PM, followed by the Divine Liturgy. This year we added Vespers following the Royal Hours. When I arrived I found the largest congregation I've ever seen for Royal Hours - a good turn-out for our bishop's visit. The service moved a bit quicker than usual, as it often does when Bishop Thomas is present. When it ended, and I moved up to the chanters' stand for Vespers, I was disappointed to learn that our protopsalti, Emily, would not be joining us. Her absence left us in disarray, but we managed to get through the service. The bishop jumped in a few times and unexpectedly sang hymns that chanters were expecting to do. This was actually something of a relief at the aposticha, which we were not completely ready for.

When I checked my e-mail a few hours later, I learned that Emily was out with the flu and would not be joining us for Matins either, and my Matins assignment had been expanded to include the stichera on the Praises, as well as the kathisma hymns. My only other major parts were ones I knew about - the First Nativity Canon and the odd verses of the Great Doxology, both to be sung with Garth. I had been practicing the Nativity Canon for nearly a month - and it was challenging enough that I really needed that much time to learn it. I spent a couple of hours at my office printing music, marking up the kathismata and stichera for free chanting, and practicing everything, then headed for church.

The three chanters stood with the choir at the back of the church, rather than at the chanters' stand. Matins started smoothly. I free chanted the first two kathismata pretty well but was a bit shaky on the third, which followed a different pattern than the first two. The men got through the Polyeleos without messing up the "humiliation" verse, but in celebrating that small victory almost missed the next verse. Eventually, the time came for the Nativity canons. Garth and I chanted the first ode of the first canon, and then Debra chanted the first ode of the second canon. Before we could start on the next ode of the first canon, Bishop Thomas jumped in and sang it. He did this on all the remaining odes of the first canon. In no time, the piece I had been practicing for weeks was over and I only got to sing the first verse. I managed to recover my composure in time to free chant the stichera on the Praises, which went well. We concluded Matins with the Great Doxology in tone 2, and it sounded much better than it had in rehearsal two nights earlier.

Without Transubstantiation

The bishop sang a slightly different translation of the First Nativity Canon than the one we had been practicing. In the third and sixth odes where our translation read, "without change," he sang, "without transubstantiation." In both instances, the original Greek words come from a root that means "to flow" or "to change." (This is a different word than the one translated "without change" in the Chalcedonian definition of Christ's two natures and in the hymn "Only-Begotten Son.") The bishop's translation is one that appears in various official Antiochian places, like the website of the Los Angeles diocese. (The existence of multiple official translations is not unusual in the Antiochian Archdiocese.) I am still wondering if this translation was intended by the translator as a bit of anti-Roman polemic. Or, alternatively, did he have a limited English vocabulary heavy on technical theological terms?

My favorite ode of this canon is the fifth. (The fifth ode of a canon is based on Isaiah 26:9-20.) The ode reads:

O Lover of Mankind, since thou art the God of Peace and the Father of Mercies, thou didst send to us the Angel of Thy Great Counsel, granting us thy peace. Wherefore have we been led aright to the light of divine knowledge, glorifying thee as we come out of darkness.

Just after we have passed the darkest time of the year and the days are beginning to lengthen, we celebrate the arrival of the Logos, the true light who came into the world to enlighten us all.

Wishing a merry Christmas and a happy 2010 to all of my readers.

Melito's Reproaches

O lawless Israel, what is this new injustice you have done,
casting strange sufferings on your Lord?
Your master who formed you,
who made you,
who honored you,
who called you Israel.


He it was who led you into Egypt,
and guarded you there and sustained you.
He it was who lit up your way with a pillar,
and sheltered you with a cloud.
He cut the Red Sea open, leading you through,
and destroyed the enemy.

He it is who gave you manna from heaven,
who gave you drink from a rock,
who gave you the law at Horeb,
who gave you the inheritance in the land,
who sent you the prophets,
who raised up kings for you.

He it is who, coming to you,
healed your suffering and raised your dead.
He it is whom you outraged,
he it is whom you blasphemed,
he it is whom you oppressed,
he it is whom you killed,
he it is whom you extorted,
demanding from him two drachmas as the price of his head.


His gifts to you are beyond price,
yet you held them worthless when you thanked him,
repaying him with ungrateful acts;
evil for good,
affliction for joy,
and death for life.
On this account you had to die.


On Pascha 81, 84-86, 90
by Melito of Sardis
translated by Alistair Stewart-Sykes.