Pentecost

Pentecost 2015, the day we became Orthodox

My husband and I became members of the Orthodox Church through the sacrament of Chrismation last year at Pentecost. Today, I came full-circle through the liturgical year for the first time as an Orthodox Christian.

Last Pentecost, I woke up early in the morning with a feeling of great anticipation. I was so excited to finally become Orthodox after several years as an inquirer. I was also nervous about the ceremony of Chrismation itself and making sure that I "did everything right"- something I tend to worry too much about. It was similar to how I felt on my wedding day.

By the time our Chrismation ceremony started, I was already starving and slightly dizzy because I had been awake for several hours and was unused to the Eucharistic fast. I was also 3 months pregnant, a fact I had not yet announced to our church friends, and I'm sure that contributed to my dizziness. Our priest would surely have exempted me from the fast if I had asked, but I was proudly determined to DO IT RIGHT!

So I struggled to make it through the Mass, intent on not missing my opportunity to receive Holy Communion for the first time. Nathan and I were first in line for Communion, since we had just been Chrismated, and as we approached the rail I saw gray spots around the periphery of my vision. I managed to hang on just long enough to receive Communion before collapsing against the rail. Our priest later told me that he had to lean down and whisper to Nathan, "Catch Keela!" Nathan was too engrossed in the experience of receiving Holy Communion for the first time to notice that I was falling over (not that I can blame him for that).

This year was different. I was not nervous or about to pass out, so I was able to pay more attention to what was going on in the Mass and all of the special festive details: the gorgeous, bright red vestments; the colorful floral arrangements on the altar; the special music performed by our choir; the extra servers at the altar who had come to help celebrate this great feast day. Peter, who is now 6 and a half months old, was even considerate enough to sleep through most of the Mass, so I didn't miss anything.

Today was also bittersweet, since we will be moving and leaving our parish in just a couple of weeks. We may never experience another great feast day at this parish, unless we come back to visit at the right time. We are not only leaving this parish, but also the Western rite, since all of the parishes near Milwaukee (our soon-to-be home) are Eastern rite. This next turn through the Church year, we will be like newbies all over again, learning how things are done in the Byzantine style. So I am grateful that I had the chance today to soak in everything that I love about this parish and the Western rite before I have to say goodbye.

Reflections on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday

Today is Good Friday for us Orthodox. Easter is almost here, but before we get to the Empty Tomb, we must first follow our Lord to the Cross and even descend with Him into Hell. So even though we will be feasting in less than two days' time, it feels like we still have a long way to go.

It reminds me a bit of when I was a student and the end of the semester was approaching. I could never get excited about the winter or summer break that came after the end of semester because I knew I had to get through final exams first. I was always a procrastinator, yet also excessively worried about maintaining a perfect GPA, so final exam week was a very stressful time for me. I couldn't enjoy fantasizing about the upcoming vacation time because part of me wasn't sure I would actually survive finals! Then, when I eventually did make it through finals, the sudden relief of being done with the semester always came as a pleasant shock.

So, I'm not getting excited about Easter... yet.

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Last night was the Great Watch in the Garden, when we commemorate and mystically re-live the night Jesus spent praying in the garden of Gethsemane before His Crucifixion. I was grateful to have the opportunity to pray for about an hour at the Altar of Repose after Mass. My 5-month-old was very cooperative and slept in my arms for most of that time.

The hour I spent at the Altar of Repose was from about 8:45 to 9:45 pm. It was a still, solemn, beautiful hour. On the Altar, the golden Tabernacle containing the Eucharist sat surrounded by flickering candles, which provided the only light to the little chapel. There was darkness beyond the stained glass windows, and I could hear the night noises of the city-- traffic, the occasional siren, voices of pedestrians passing by. All around me in the city, people were going to sleep, or starting the night shift, or having a drink in a bar, as if it were any other night and not the eve of something awful and wondrous. It is lonely to be awake and watchful at night, when it seems that everyone else is asleep or revelling or going about their work. (You can't blame most people for being ignorant of the Orthodox liturgical calendar, but still.)

I thought about Jesus praying in the darkness in Gethsemane, the night noises He must have heard around Him, and His dreadful anticipation of what was about to happen. Only He fully knew what was about to happen, even though he had forewarned His disciples. What a night that must have been.

What Happened When I (Mostly) Stopped Reading the News

A few weeks ago, I was a bit obsessed with the presidential election coverage. I followed every state's primary closely, even though I was unable to vote in my own state's caucus. (I was ineligible to vote in either major party's caucus because I am a registered Independent. In addition, the Colorado Republicans, for reasons that are difficult to understand, decided not to hold a vote on the presidential nominee this year.)

Then I drastically reduced my consumption of news and politics articles when Lent began (Ash Wednesday was March 16 for us Western Rite Orthodox), and in the past week or so I have read hardly any news at all. I have no idea what controversial statement Trump has made most recently. I have no idea whether Bernie Sanders is catching up with Hillary Clinton in the delegate count. Is Kasich still in the race? I really don't know.

I am ignorant of other news topics as well. I did read a little about the Brussels attacks, but I haven't read into the details.

What happened when I (mostly) stopped reading the news? At first, I was extremely curious about what was happening in the election and the world, and I found it very difficult not to go to Google news and find out how certain stories that I had been following were developing. Then, as I became more and more out of touch, I actually started to lose interest. Since I no longer knew which states' primaries were happening when, I didn't feel tempted to watch the results come in.

I have begun to feel a lot less emotionally involved in the election and other world events. Instead of musing all day about the mysteries of Donald Trump's candidacy, I am much more focused on my daily tasks. I have even put more thought into my spiritual life (though still not as much as I should during this holy season).

I have a Thursday through Sunday print subscription to the Denver Post (I have a Luddite streak, despite my addiction to Google news). This morning, after I picked up the Thursday edition from my doormat, I skimmed the headlines for about two minutes before recycling the whole thing. It didn't feel like an act of self-denial; I just didn't actually care about reading past any of the headlines. I got bored with the news after two minutes and wanted to move on with my day.

Now that I have taken a step back from following politics, it is becoming clearer to me just how much spiritual destruction I had been doing to myself by unrestrainedly indulging my political passion. Sometimes, I think, it is difficult to see how destructive a vice is until you have started to recover from it.

It's like when you're in a smelly room for a such a long time that your nose becomes desensitized to the smell. It's not until you've been out of the room for a while, breathing the fresh air, that your nose becomes re-sensitized. Then, when you re-enter the room, you realize how much it stinks, and you can't believe you didn't notice before.

Not reading the news has been a breath of fresh air. Now, when I come across yet another article someone has posted on Facebook explaining how Trump's candidacy is a harbinger of the apocalypse, I think to myself, "Whew-- did this always REEK so much?"