The vigil for the Feast of the Nativity was glorious. On Christmas eve morning we had the Liturgy of St. Basil, Vespers immediately after and then at 5:00, the Vigil. All in all it was a lovely 5 hours in Church. And you know, I only felt like I was actually able to pray about 1/4 the way into the vigil.

It takes me so long to find that place within myself that can actually and actively respond to the deacons invitation to "Let us pray to Lord." Exactly what it takes to find that spot is unclear to me. To be sure, it is always God helping me to find myself in order to offer it back to him, to give it to him to transform me but I do not yet know what practises help me. I suspect it's the fasting - the kind that takes effort and makes me feel like I really want to eat hamburger. Those days when it is a strict fast can be harsh days but God is always there, ready to give strength.

Anyway, I was standing there and we were singing the litanies and I remember actually barely starting to pray and mean just a few of those "Lord have mercies." To continually realize I need God's mercy and thereby meaningfully ask God to have mercy is rare.

Lord, have mercy on me.

Christ is born! Glorify Him!

Much of my reflection on the previous site came out of some other searching within myself and asking myself if I am properly prepared when I receive communion. One thing I know I can and should do more often is go to confession with metered regularity. Anyhow, I'll probably talk about this later.

Closed Communion?

After a long hiatus here is another post. It's one that has been gestating for a while and probably came out a bit early but given the events in my life, it's something that has demanded my attention and reflection. As it turns out, it's as much a reflection on marriage as it is on the eucharist.

Once again I am asking myself, "Why do we have a "closed" cup at communion?" Or better yet, "In what way do we understand the world 'closed' and how far does the closure go?"

In my thinking about the issue I have come to absolutely detest the world "closed." Here is why. The chalice is not a place of closure in any sense of the word but the site of the most radical openness and nearness of God to man. To even apply the world "closed" to the Orthodox practise of barring from the chalice those who are not Orthodox is simply inappropriate. To me the word closed is inaccurate. I'm having trouble articulating why I think it's inappropiate but I think the example of marriage can be illuminating.

I remember talking to Fr. Lawrence about why communion with Christians who are not Orthodox is not possible. He used the example of marriage as a metaphor; two people are united into one in holy matrimony and so to are we united to Christ by partaking of him in the eucharist. Thus we become one with Christ in his Church which is his Body.

Back to the issue of the word "closed." When two people are married, their love in a certain sense is closed, or rather, particular and devoted. They express their love for one another by remaining faithful and loving to the other in an exclusive manner, that is to say, by not being with another man or woman. However, by remaining absolutely faithful, the marriage is not called "closed," it is committed and united - absolutely and eternally committed and united. To use the word closed to describe this would obscure the beauty and the glory of marriage. All sacraments of the Church are an opening and a manifestation of God's love which is never closed. And if a couple sees their relationship as "closed," I dare say it would start looking pretty ugly in a short time.

Marriage is in fact an opening. It is an opening of two people to God and to each other. The best marriages, in my limited and humble opinion, are those most open - to the image and presence of God in each other and in world around them. In fact, I think that as a married couple more clearly sees God's grace active and alive in each other, thus moving deeply into a profound spiritual union, they will naturally open up to God's presence in the world around them, opening themselves up to show forth the the unity of Christ and his Church in the sacrament of marriage. The point is to underscore the essential openness and yet the particular devotion of one to the other inherent in marriage. In being absolutely devoted, loving and thus open and united to one's husband or wife - to this one particular person - makes the relationship show the universal love of God for everything which he has already united to himself.

Communion is also an opening. It is the primary sacramental point of the openness of God to humanity. It is the over-abundant gift of God's continual presence in his Church. At the chalice, humanity is united to Jesus Christ and in this blessed union, effected by the Holy Spirit, humanity is made one with everything. I am reminded here of a introduction to a book about contemporary Greek elders. These monks, the author explained, leave the world to be truly united to it by first finding their unity in Christ and in him alone. By striving to love God above all, in whom all things are made new and in whom all things are united, the monk becomes a catholic person, he or she understands the unity of all things already brought together in Christ Jesus. It's like the Apostle Paul saying, "I have become all things to all men, that I might by all means save some."

So in the end I say, "closed shmosed." Yes, communion is for only those who are chrismated and baptised Orthodox Christians - we are not permited to be "promiscuous with the cup" to quote a friend a mine - but it is not really only for Orthodox Christians but for "the life of the world."

Perhaps a future post will look more at why the eucharist is reserved for Orthodox Christians and why it is essential that it remains this way.

It was a special evening. Litya in commemoration of St. Nicholas celebrated by Deacon Gregory, Fr. John Jillions and Bishop Seraphim. Everytime the deacon intones the long list of saints (which Fr. Lawrence abridges at St. Herman's) I am moved by the remembrance of God's faithfulness to his Church. All of these saints, men and women from the Cappadocia to Brooklyn, have sought God and he has answered them and in answering them, he has answered us. That list of names is like a kind of history of salvation, of God's abiding and powerful presence within his Church.

Because God is with us, St. Nicholas is with us. St. Xenia is with us. St. Herman is with us. I am reminded of St. John of Kronstadt who says something like , "When you are praying and God feels far off, remember that he is as close to you as the holy icon standing before you - no - God is even closer." It is the same with the saints. They are near. They pray for us.

I thought I was going to write about ecclesiology but I don't think I will. God's saints are far more interesting and much more helpful than boring dissertations on what the best way is to ecclesiastically and liturgically relate to the "Orthodox in communion with Rome," i.e. Ukrainian Catholics. I will write about it sometime but not right now. The memory of St. Nicholas and Jesus Christ is much better.

Oh yeah, Sunday was my patron saint's feast day! St. John of Damascus! Maybe someday people will start calling me John - Cheryl says there's no way she'll call me John. Whatever the case may be, St. John of Damascus pray to God for me.

Yesterday, we dragged Bishop Seraphim up to our apartment from the Church hall to bless our place. It was awesome. When holy people are around, it is so much easier to see reality. Tonight, Litya commemorating St. Nicholas and then coffee and cookies. The St. Paul University student body has been invited. Hopefully they will come and pray with us.

I've been thinking a lot about the Orthodox Church's relationship with other churches - ecumenically, eucharistically, etc. Tonight I think I'll compose some of my reflections.