a visit

My family visited St. John Orthodox church in Memphis today. It was a challenging experience.

First, it was challenging because we are technically Anglicans. We have for a short time belonged to a small REC parish not too far from St. John's. Our priest is a good man, a loving priest, something we've rejoiced in since we started attending the REC parish about a year ago. My daughter was baptized at St. James (the Reformed Episcopal parish we've been attending). We have learned more about the Church than at any time in our lives while we have attended St. James. We continue to grow. But in that growth, we've come to many realizations that first made us say "Maybe we shouldn't be confirmed." and now things have come to a head and we've asked ourselves if we believe in the Anglican faith.

The answer to that question is that we don't. We don't affirm the change to the Nicene Creed. We don't agree at all with female or homosexual priesthood, but for us that's not the root of the matter. We don't want to be a part of a faith that is shattering at it's core, and that many people are only members of because the more Protestant and Evangelical churches they used to attend ordain women and homosexuals. Where is the communion in that? We don't understand why confession isn't done, or why the Eucharist is treated casually. We see no point in continuing to commune within this group.

I've even began to question what the Anglican church did when it broke away from Rome. I am not interested in any revolution, however neat and hip it may be, that is moving further and further away from the Church that came to us through Christ and the Apostles.

There is a loveliness within the Anglican faith that I find appealing. I will not miss it, but I am glad I experienced it.

At St. John's this morning, I couldn't exactly follow the liturgy. I didn't know the right words or actions, but there was a feeling of easiness about everything. I have a brother-in-law that has fussed at me for saying that we are begining to feel like the Orthodox way is what we're after, but yes, I felt that we should visit again, and again. And again. Not because the icons were beautiful (they were) or because the parishioners were welcoming and kind (they were) or because we liked the "service".

It was the utterly beautiful and complete worship of Christ.

My children even behaved.

A proclamation

I have decided I am useless at blogging seriously. Besides, no one reads this. So it will now become even more random, and pointless, and girly. A bit more like a tween journal, a lot less like an intellectual rant-space. I am not an intellectual. Just plain Jane barely legal.

I have had an entertaining and enjoyable Thanksgiving with family. Joe, the kids, and I made the family buckeyes (peanut buttery goodness dipped in choclate) and some peppermint bark together, and it all turned out really well. We took said candy to the family get together and shared. My six year old, Beth, learned from her uncle that Thanksgiving is really all about capitalism and genocide. Ella showed off her walking skills. Zach and Elijah thoroughly beat eachother with plastic bats in the backyard. I drank hard cider and ate honey ham. Life is good.

wisdom

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. -A.I. Solzhenitsyn

http://fatherstephen.wordpress.com/2009/11/18/florovskys-limits-of-the-church-added/

This really answered some questions for us. Very interesting.

This goes along with what Jaroslav Pelikan said in the radio program I linked in a previous post, that saying yes to one thing is saying no to another, and vice versa. There is no inbetween.

Musing over beauty.

Disclaimer: another post of mine prompted by my musings lately, and catapulted onto my semblance of a blog by this excellent post on beauty...

The post above uses icons as an example of something we can see (not just look at) as beautiful, which I find interesting and agreeable, since in my experience those Protestants or non-Christians who are unfamiliar with icons usually don't first express what beauty they've beheld. I've heard several reactions that run along the lines of, "That sure is some odd artwork." Or, "Why does Jesus have a six-pack?"

I think I avoided this particular reaction partly by being introduced to iconography by osmosis. My brother and sister in law are Antiochian Orthodox, and more than four years ago I visited them in their home after their first daughter was born, and afterwards visited their church more than a few times. I found icons at first oddly fascinating, then pretty confusing, and with some self-education and careful, prayerful consideration, I now see the beauty Fr. Stephen alludes to in his post. However, it was not an instant constitution.

I suppose there is also the fact that I did not grow up in church, therefore I was not brainwashed that iconography is evil and blasphemous idolatry. I did not have a judgement that had been pounded subtly into my head to set me against veneration, either. I heartily thank God for that, no matter how I've regretted not being a Christian till adulthood.

The mass production of beauty, as something to be utilized, though...I don't think that is beauty, just something ugly with a pretty name and a convincing veneer. One cannot buy salvation, and one cannot buy beauty. Any front that promotes beauty as marketable, and by those means personally acquirable, is to be looked upon as falsehood and turned away from. It's not possible to gain beauty by trade or payment. A culture based on that falsehood is a culture fooling itself, twice over. First, by convincing ourselves that we see beauty when we're only looking at carefully engineered surfaces, and second by thinking we can reproduce it and profit from it.

True beauty is hard to describe, or recognize. Glossy veneers are easier to accept, easier to sell. Beauty is not what a crowd agrees is beautiful. Often, beauty is really downright hard to look at. So we avert our eyes. And our hearts.

Beauty is present in a martyr's death. It is in selfless and non-seeking sacrifice, which is not of this world, and therefore is not seen as important in a culture of glitter and glam and you just gotta be yourself and love yourself mentality.

Lord, have mercy upon me. I, a product of this world, am most familiar with the glossy version of "beautiful", and it doesn't feel nice to look upon God's beauty, something which is pure and unadulterated. It is not present in overwhelming emotion, but in quiet contemplation. Beauty is not normal, perfected, or exactly reproducible.






But what the hell do I know. I can say I know suffering, and the beauty that can come from it.

What's that mean? It means nobody wants to buy Britney Fears.

A link and age

Read a good blog post here.

Being twenty-three is no fun, really. Not old enough to be respected but plenty young enough to be rejected.

Elijah is two and gets insulted when we say he's not three yet. He's also very concerned about a return trip to St. Louis, because he had so much fun. Here is our daily (sometimes hourly) conversation:

"Mama, we go to St. Lou now?" (with an impish grin)
"Nope, not today. When you're three."
(pouting and frowning commences) "I am not two!"
"Yes, baby, you're two."
"I wanna be three! Go to St. Lou!"
"When you ARE three, we're gonna go to St. Louis. But not now."
"I am two."
"Yes, you are."
"I DON'T WANNA BE TWO! I AM THREE!"
"You are two, not three yet."
(sometimes bursts into tears here) "I am not two!"

and it can go on like this back and forth for as long as Mama will put up with it. Or until terrible two has a meltdown about the fact that I won't let him be three NOW. You know, so we can go to glorious St. Louis TODAY.

Poor Elijah has such a mean mommy.

surrender

In the end what you don't surrender
Well the world just strips away

-from Bruce Springsteen's Human Touch

I am learning from our goats. No, really.

Goats. Who would have thought we'd have goats, of all pets...and yet now we'd have no other animal and be so pleased as we are.

We have two nannies and a wether. They are half Pygmy, and half Nigerian. Smaller than the average full size dog, but just as heavy.

I just read that their dung was used by Neolithic peoples as fuel, their hide for water and wine bottles, even parchment. I am continually amazed by the place these cousins of the sheep have taken in history. But I've been around sheep. These are no mere sheep. They're smart, quirky, quick to attitude and rebellion. A lot of the stories I read to the kids (old, classic tales) include goats. Because, I believe, the authors took note of the extraordinary rascal that is so well defined in these creatures.

The goat has a four chambered stomach, which, really, makes more sense. They have horizontal slit-shaped pupils, an adaptation which increases peripheral depth perception. They are curious and intelligent.

Watching our goats grow and mature has been a wonderful thing. Now, it is fall, and they were born in the spring. They delight in the falling leaves, and their enjoyment of the cooler fall weather produces in the watcher a consideration of this delight, and then a consequent more avid appreciation of falling leaves, something that can become commonplace. I am also aware that they have never seen falling leaves before, and it reminds me of the puppies my family raised as a child, and their excitement over such things like leaves and snow. The goats take an ever more happy countenance, realizing how terrific it is that the leaves that were out of reach are now fluttering down in piles around them.

We have a sliding glass door and if you stand before it the goats are sure to come sidling up and press their curious faces against the glass to peer at you. They no longer call loudly, as when we first brought them to their new home, instead if they speak it's a gentle and affectionate "Baaa." Sit in a lawn chair in the yard and you are sure to have them surround you with snuffles and nibbles -and then one is in your lap nose to nose with you. They're not bashful, in the least.

Their sense of community is another beautiful thing to regard. They move in a herd, work together, sleep together, ponder together, frolic together. If they fight, it is for a reason, and they get the fight over with and decided quickly, then go back to their friendly ways.

We know already that they could be over our fence easily if they chose to go. There is a look in their eyes that clamours of wild ways. They would find a weak or low spot in the fence, if they cared to look. But they are content with us, and I know an appreciation of their choice to reside in our care.

If I've ever seen an animal I'd describe as happy, it'd be a goat. They are pleased with their simple existence, always on the lookout for a bit of adventure but constantly ready to return to habits that have been trustworthy without regret of the loss of excitement.

Makes me think maybe I have something to learn from them.