Religion AND Spirituality

Last year I had the blessing of reading an advance reader’s copy of my friend River Jordan’s new book, Confessions of a Christian Mystic, which will be released on April 2. I knew it was something special, and I can’t wait for it to make its appearance! (Here’s a wonderful review of Confessions of a Christian Mystic by Tina Chambers

Over at Chapter 16: “Until the World is Full”. )

But today I want to talk about something that River said in this wonderful conversation she had with Silas House which was just published by Parnassus Books on their site, Musing:

The Holy Ground of Story: A Conversation Between Silas House and River Jordan

The whole conversation is wonderful—I especially like what she says about art and music not having to be “religious” to be part of what she calls “the holy ground of story”—but what I want to focus on today is this:

House asks,

“In the book you talk about how the word “Christian” is so loaded these days. . . . What do you say to the people who might hesitate reaching for this book because of that word in the title?”

I was on the edge of my seat to read River’s response to this, because I often post things in my blog or on social media that might be considered “loaded” in that they are unapologetically filled with not only spiritual terminology, but also words that are strongly religious, and specifically Christian. And in a more specific “subset,” Orthodox Christian. So here’s what River said in answer to House’s question:

I hope people will at least pick it up to peruse, discover it is a fusion of faith and fiction and essay and fall in love with the strange little genre-buster that it is.”

That’s what I hoped from the beginning for my novel Cherry Bomb. It’s not a genre-buster like Confessions—it’s a straight-up southern literary novel. But it’s infused with a (strange?) mix of sexual abuse, a religious cult, graffiti, Orthodox Christianity, abstract expressionist art, and weeping icons. I hoped (and still hope) for a readership beyond those who typically read Christian fiction, which Cherry Bomb is not. River addresses some of these same issues as she continues to answer House’s question:

“In the bigger picture, it occurs to me that many of us are not talking about our faith very much. We’re talking about great stories and music, fiction and movies, and where the greatest new Thai restaurant is; but apparently the conversation that features the Christian faith as we know it to be true is not part of our cultural mainstream. If it were, we wouldn’t cringe at the word or have need to defend it.”

Our “cultural mainstream” embraces the word “spiritual” with open arms—arms open wide enough to let in a wide diversity of beliefs, Christian or otherwise. But the word “religious” which seems to invoke a smaller and often maligned following, calls up a more legalistic image. What do you think of when you hear the word “religious”? What do you mean when you say or write it?

In this article from the Huffington Post a few years ago, Shahram Shiva—a longtime Rumi expert—defines a “religious” person in a fairly traditional manner, basically as one who follows the traditions of an established religion—Christian or otherwise. But then he limits his definition of a “spiritual” person to exclude people who are religious, offering this simple “test” to determine which camp we fall into:

It’s very easy to discover if you are religious or spiritual.
1. Do you worship any type of a deity or a God or a sect leader? This includes popular yoga gods such as Ganesh or Rama and so called gurus or masters. Then you are religious.

2. Do you believe in the power of your own self and that you are in charge of your destiny? In this case you are spiritual.

Shiva’s definition of a spiritual person excludes Christians, or others who worship any type of deity. And yet for centuries the Orthodox Christian Church—the faith that I follow—has held up their theologians as being “spiritual.”

The Greek Orthodox theologian Metropolitan Hierotheos Vlachos, writes about these terms in “The Difference Between Orthodox Spirituality and Other Traditions”:

“Orthodox spirituality differs distinctly from any other “spirituality” of an eastern or western type. There can be no confusion among the various spiritualities, because Orthodox spirituality is God-centered, whereas all others are man-centered.”

Shiva would agree with Vlachos, since he says that a spiritual person believes in “the power of your own self.”

I wonder what Shiva thinks about the thousands of Orthodox Christians who follow the teachings of their Church on Orthodox spirituality? I love this article, “Orthodox Spirituality,” which appears on the website of the Orthodox Church in America (OCA). Here’s a short quote:

“Spirituality in the Orthodox Church means the everyday activity of life in communion with God. The term spirituality refers not merely to the activity of man’s spirit alone, his mind, heart and soul, but it refers as well to the whole of man’s life as inspired and guided by the Spirit of God.”

During Great Lent Christians focus on having our lives “inspired and guided by the Spirit of God” in a more dynamic way. It’s not that we only want to live this way for 40 days before Pascha (Easter) every spring. But sometimes during the other 325 days we lose a bit of steam and need our engines fired back up. I want to live a more “spiritual” life every day, but of course I fall short of my goals and repent and receive forgiveness and grace over and over. And all of this takes place within the walls–physical and spiritual—of my Church, and the religion it represents.

You can see River’s calendar of events on her tour for Confessions here, starting with her launch at Parnassus in Nashville on March 29. I’m excited that she will be here in Memphis on April 25, at Novel Books. Can’t wait to visit with her about all things mystical, spiritual, artistic, and yes, religious.

Memory Eternal to our Beloved Mother Olga

Anne Marie Harrison (Mother Olga) 9/3/1950-2/6/2019

My dear friend and beloved sister in Christ, Anne Marie Harrison (aka Mother Olga) passed away last night at 10 p.m. Pacific Time.

Anne Marie moved to Memphis from the Nashville area in 1997, where she had been a member of St. Ignatius Orthodox Church in Franklin, Tennessee. In Memphis, she was a parishioner at St. John Orthodox Church, and we bonded soon after she arrived. We shared Mississippi roots and together we chased down some similar personal demons as we pursued Christ’s healing in our lives with an almost monastic zeal. I say “almost” because that’s what it was for me. I remember being with Anne Marie on at least one of my numerous visits to Holy Dormition Monastery in Rives Junction, Michigan, between 1997 and 2004. During those years she and I spent quite a bit of time together, and our family “adopted” her at times for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners and other holidays when she would have otherwise been alone. I’m sure others in the parish did this as well.

Anne Marie’s zeal became more than “almost monastic” when she moved to California to become a nun in 2004. She was given the name Sister Thekla at St. Barbara Monastery in Santa Paula, California, where she served until 2009.

Sister Thekla labored with the sisters at Holy Assumption Monastery in Calistoga, California for the last decade of her life. I regret that I never visited her there, but our parish was blessed to have her Abbess, Mother Melania, travel to Memphis to speak at one of our women’s retreats, and I loved her spirit and was happy that my friend had found a spiritual home there. A few years ago Sister Thekla’s health began to fail, and the sisters at the monastery stepped up to care for her. Shortly before her death, she was given a higher tonsure as a stavraphore nun, and her name was changed to Mother Olga, in honor of Beloved Olga of Alaska, who was especially known for her care of women who had been abused or neglected.

Sister Thekla called me back in July of 2013—when I had just been in a life-threatening car wreck—and offered (with her Abbess’s blessing) to come to Memphis and stay with us and help my husband nurse me through part of the semi-invalid stage of my recovery. Many parishioners at St. John were helping us, and our daughter came from Denver for some of this time, so I thanked Sister Thekla and asked her to help me with her prayers instead, which I believe she did, and continues to do even now.

This Sunday the clergy and parishioners at St. John here in Memphis and at her home parish of St. Ignatius in Franklin, Tennessee, will be serving Memorial Prayers for her, and I’ll be making the traditional koliva (boiled) wheat, which we will share afterwards in remembrance of Mother Olga’s death. In John’s Gospel we find this quote, “Christ said, ‘Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.’” (John 12:24)  This is why we cook the wheat. But we sweeten it with honey and raisins because death no longer has a sting. As Orthodox Christians we honor the memory of our deceased beloved ones with these prayers for the souls of the departed, which are also a way to help us heal from the death.

I love you, Anne Marie/Sister Thekla/Mother Olga. May your memory be eternal.

 

Making Up For Our Years Without Christmas

10885594_685613064885216_9056017391288911443_nFor the first seven or so years of our marriage, my husband and I did not celebrate Christmas. As I write these words, I’m surprised that we rejected such an enduring tradition from our lives for so long. We were part of a cult-like group that didn’t believe in Christmas. We interpreted a scripture verse to mean don’t celebrate any holidays:

“One person esteems one day above another; another esteems every day alike. Let each be fully convinced in his own mind. He who observes the day, observes it to the Lord, and he who does not observe the day, to the Lord he does not observe it.”—Romans 14:5-6 (Orthodox Study Bible)

We weren’t the first people to reject the celebration of Christmas—the Jehovah’s Witnesses had been doing it for many years. But most of the folks in our little group were raised in Christian families and churches in the South, and it was difficult for our families when we chose not to participate. I can still remember how much it hurt to tell our parents that we wouldn’t be giving them gifts and that we ask that they not give us gifts. For so many years our home was not aglow with Christmas lights and enriched with the aroma of pine needles from Christmas trees. A few Christmas cards did arrive in our mailbox, but even those teetered off when we didn’t reply.

Christmas 1978. Jonathan was 16 months old. It was our first year to celebrate Christmas in the 8 years we had been married.

Christmas 1978. Jonathan was 16 months old. It was our first year to celebrate Christmas in the 8 years we had been married.

And then somehow—I can’t remember this part of the story—we changed our minds. I do remember when it happened, because our oldest child was just over a year old. Thankfully he didn’t have to endure years without Christmas, since he was only four months old during the first Christmas season of his life, when we still weren’t participating. I can still remember the joy I felt at seeing his joy—first at the Christmas tree in our home, and then at the gifts, and the sounds and smells of Christmas as we walked through stores and drove through neighborhoods to look at the outdoor Christmas lights.

Burke's 2I love going to stores that are decorated for Christmas. Especially the small stores, like Burke’s Books, where the window decorations are always so creative. As I left with my bundle of books to give as Christmas gifts, I paused in front of the store and sang (yes—and I didn’t care if anyone walked by and heard me) a few verses of “Silver Bells”—especially the part that says, “City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style . . . . As the shoppers rush home with their treasures.”

Yes, the music! I had missed singing Christmas carols—and actually I still miss this, since traditional American Christmas music isn’t sung in the Orthodox Church. It’s not that we’re against it—it’s just that those carols aren’t liturgical, and so they aren’t part of our worship. Some of our parishioners do go as a group to sing carols at a local nursing home every year, and some traditional Christmas carols are sung in our church’s annual children’s Christmas play. But being part of the Orthodox Church is still a bit “foreign” to one born and raised in Mississippi, and living for the past thirty years in Memphis. Some Orthodox traditions run counter to our culture.

Like the Nativity fast, which lasts from November 15 until Christmas. This period is similar to the forty days of Lent that lead up to Pascha, the Orthodox celebration of Easter, only a little less strict. We fast from meat, dairy, and even fish and wine on many days. What’s hard about this—especially as compared with the season of Great Lent—is that the rest of our culture is celebrating with delicious food and drink during this time. Everyone else is partying before Christmas (my husband and I are invited to three Christmas parties this year, and look forward to all of them), whereas our church encourages us to begin the celebrations on Christmas, with emphasis on the “twelve days of Christmas” that start with Christmas, rather than ending with it.

I find some of our traditions distract from the season. Like when we celebrate the Feast of Saint Nicholas on December 6. We have Vespers, then our teens put on a play about the real Saint Nicholas, Bishop of Myra. Parishioners bring toys, which our church gives to a local Christmas “store” for parents who can’t afford to buy gifts for their children. And we share refreshments—candies and cookies that contain no milk, eggs, or cheese. No hot chocolate. No egg nog. These must wait until Christmas Day and after. So it always feels to me a bit like a semi-feast.

Christmas cardsI don’t mean to sound like Scrooge, but I obviously struggle with some of the traditions of my Church. Especially when they seem to tamp down the joy and excitement that I missed during those years when we rejected Christmas altogether. This year I’m trying to be positive and focus on giving to others, prayer, and taking time for silence and inner peace. One way I’m doing that is by incorporating prayer into one of my favorite traditions—writing, addressing, and mailing Christmas cards. As I address each card and write a short note inside, I say a prayer for the person or people who will be receiving the card. Since I send out over 100 cards, this is an opportunity for quite a bit of prayer. And just for fun, last night I counted up the states where our Christmas card recipients live, and found there are 22. It’s fun to think of those friends and family who live everywhere from Florida to the state of Washington, and from southern California to Maine, all receiving our cards, and our prayers.

‘Tis the season, y’all.

The End of the Affair (?)

Hershey's bars 6 packI thought that when I quit drinking in September of 2017, that it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Turns out it was just the tip of the iceberg. Turns out Kettle One martinis have nothing on Hershey’s milk chocolate.

Of course it’s natural to crave sugar and carbs when suddenly abstaining from alcohol, which is full of both. And on top of that, I’ve struggled with disordered eating all of my life—not just my adult life. Being molested by my grandfather when I was five, and then being emotionally and verbally abused by my mother most of my life—especially when she was drinking—left me with a messy battle with food, alcohol, and my body. I was hoping that breaking up with alcohol would fix everything. Turns out it was only the end of one affair.

In recent months, Hersheys Kisses moved into my life with all the force of a lover in heat. It started with only a few Kisses a day, not even every day. But then it escalated to whole bags of kisses, which I would devour without stopping, usually while watching something dark on Netflix, like Homecoming. When I mentioned my kisses binges to a couple of people, they laughed, not realizing the seriousness of my situation. One of my favorite essayists, Anne Lamott, a recovering alcoholic herself, seems to condone my habit, as she writes in her latest book Almost Everything: Notes on Hope:

Chocolate with 81% cacao is not actually a food . . . . It was never meant to be considered an edible. [Note: AMEN!] . . . .

Don’t let others make you feel unsophisticated if you reach middle age preferring Hershey’s Kisses. So many of your better people do. Also, always carry a handful of Kisses in your backpack or purse to give away. People will like you more.

IMG_5704As I read those words, from someone who like me had ended her affair with alcohol, I wondered if I could enjoy just a handful of kisses without eating the entire bag. I thought back to when and where the attraction to the Kisses began. It was five months ago today—June 15—when I was speaking at the Alabama Writers Conclave Conference in Orange Beach, Alabama. I’m always nervous when I’m going to be speaking, and I was also teaching a workshop at this event. When I was drinking, I would shore up my courage with alcohol prior to any such event, but with that source gone from my life, I innocently picked up a handful of Hersheys Kisses from the snack table in the foyer of the building where the workshops and talks were being held. For two days, I returned to that table again and again, pocketing more and more handfuls of Kisses. (I wrote about this new lover in a post in September, “Disordered Eating Revisited.”)

Recently I wondered if I could slow my roll by switching from Hershey’s Kisses to Hershey’s chocolate bars. One bar had fewer ounces than the smallest bag of Kisses, so maybe I could wean myself off. The taste was just the same—the amazing texture and the instant comfort as the milk chocolate melted in my mouth and pumped its sweetness into my blood stream. I even found myself comparing the rush to that of a vodka martini at the end of a long day, when I’m in physical or emotional pain, nervous, or stressed. But just like the vodka, after a while one was not enough. I would purchase a 6-pack of chocolate bars—intending to eat only one a day—but I found myself eating all 6 in one sitting, more than one time. I knew I was in trouble.

Enter the Nativity Fast. What? Now you’re wondering if this is the same blog post I started out writing. In the Orthodox Church we observe the Nativity Fast from November 15 until Christmas. It’s similar to our experience of Great Lent—the forty days leading up to the celebration of Pascha (Easter). There are some rules/guidelines for fasting during this season, and the Church emphasizes that the point is spiritual growth, drawing closer to God, not just following rules. I’ve always struggled with this, but something I read a couple of days ago gave me pause:

Did not the Lord Jesus Himself begin His divine ministry of the salvation of mankind with a long, forty day fast? And did not He, in this way, clearly show that we must make a serious beginning to our life as Christians with fasting? . . . With this weapon, He vanquished Satan in the wilderness, and with it was victorious over the three chief satanic passions with which Satan tempted Him: love of ease, love of praise, and love of money.—St. Nikolai Velimirovich [quoted in Daily Lives, Miracles, and Wisdom of the Saints and Fasting Calendar 2018—the Orthodox Calendar Company]

Love of ease. Love of praise. Love of money. I struggle with all three of these. In my brain I can’t understand how fasting can help me let go of these, but I do know that I’m hungry and thirsty for something.

Anne Lamott on Hershey’s Kisses.

An Orthodox saint on the value of fasting.

What’s she going to write about next? (You know I read widely and search diligently for wisdom from many sources.)

With Sheryl St. Germain at the Louisiana Book Festival

With Sheryl St. Germain at the Louisiana Book Festival

Last weekend when I was speaking at the Louisiana Book Festival, I met an amazing woman. I was drinking coffee in the author’s lounge on Saturday morning, waiting for my 9 a.m. panel to start, when an attractive, colorfully-dressed, bright-eyed woman came in and sat down next to me. We introduced ourselves, and it turned out she was Sheryl St. Germain, winner of the 2018 Louisiana Writer Award. She would be presented with the award and would give a talk—you guessed it—at 9 a.m. in another room in the Louisiana State Capitol. The other members of my panel joined us on couches and chairs in a circle and laughed about how maybe some of the people who couldn’t get into her talk would find their way to our panel.

Sheryl and I had a short but intimate conversation. I fell in love with her immediately and felt a kindred spirit with her as a writer and as a human. She is 9 years sober, and has suffered great loss in her life, including the death of her son to an overdose. She wrote beautifully about this in her poetry collection, The Small Door of Your Death, which addresses issues of addiction and recovery. Sheryl directs the MFA program in Creative Writing at Chatham University, but she’s a native of New Orleans. She is also the co-founder and director of the Words Without Walls Program, which offers creative writing courses to those incarcerated in the Allegheny County Jail, and also to inhabitants of Sojourner House, a rehab facility for women with children.

I’m reading her book Navigating Disaster: Sixteen Essays of Love and a Poem of Despair right now. In this book she chronicles the time she spent in Alaska, drawing surprising similarities to her home state of Louisiana, but also sharing insights from living so close to nature. I’m remembering my own visit to Alaska about thirteen years ago as I read these words this morning:

Juneau lies on a thin strip of land at the mouth of Gold Creek amidst a backdrop of mountains and glaciers that push down from the Juneau Ice Fields, which native people called “Home of the Spirits.” The irony of this name is not lost on me; I’ve seen a lot of public drunkenness since arriving in Alaska two months ago. . . . I’m reminded that the old label for what we now call alcoholism is dipsomania, which means, ‘crazy with thirst.’ As I hammer—with difficulty—the final tent stake into this rocky soil, I wonder if the thirst I have for wilderness and for union with the land is not more deeply connected to my own thirst for alcohol than I have wanted to admit. [Note: this was before she quit drinking.] Carl Jung would write that the alcoholic’s craving for alcohol is the equivalent, on a low level, of a spiritual thirst for wholeness, a desire for union with whatever one understands as God.

There it is—a spiritual thirst for wholeness and a desire for union with God. Yes.

And later she says,

It’s no mystery that Christ’s blood is offered to us in the literal and metaphoric form of wine, and it’s no mystery that alcoholics are such spiritually thirsty people.

I was hoping to give up Hershey’s milk chocolate altogether during the Nativity Fast, and possibly forever. If I can quit alcohol, surely I can quit milk chocolate, right? But I’m wavering today . . . still clinging to the hope that I can just be moderate with it. Hoping that I can stop with one handful of Kisses or one Hershey’s milk chocolate bar. Yesterday was the first day of the fast and I did, indeed, eat only one chocolate bar. I knew better than to buy a six-pack. One day at a time. Stay tuned.

Feeding the Lake

Father Anthony Messeh

Father Anthony Messeh

A few days ago a dear friend (one of my Goddaughters, actually) shared a link to a podcast that really blessed me, so I’d like to talk about it here. The topic of the talk was OCD—but not the definition most of us probably associate with those letters (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder).

The speaker, Father Anthony Messeh is a Coptic Orthodox priest and pastor of St. Timothy and St. Athanasius Church in Arlington, Virginia. (Sidebar: Read more about the Coptic Orthodox Church here. I’ve always personally loved their icons. You can read more about them, and their music, here.) The new spin he puts on OCD is this:

Obsessive COMPARISON Disorder.

You can listen to the podcast here:

Living with OCD Part 1

My friend shared it with me because I had just been talking with her and a couple of other close friends about my struggles in this area of my life. For my whole life, actually. In fact, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t always comparing myself to someone else, someone who seemed prettier, thinner, more popular, more successful, or someone who had a happier family, a nicer house, cooler car, more money, etc. When I was a freshman at Ole Miss, I was president of the pledge class of a top sorority, and dating (and soon engaged to) the president of the senior class of the university, who would be going to medical school the next year on a full scholarship. From the outside looking in, I had it all. But I wasn’t content. I kept comparing myself to the other girls in my sorority, even the other girls my boyfriend had dated (some of them were, literally, beauty queens) and I felt less than. From a psychological point of view, I understand that some of that was fueled by the dysfunction in my family, including my mother’s verbal and emotional abuse of me my whole life, and my grandfather’s sexual abuse of me when I was a little girl.

As I’ve grown emotionally and spiritually (and chronologically, at age 67) I’ve made baby steps in healing the disorder, but I still struggle with it. The way it rears its ugly head for me at this stage of my life has to do with my writing career. Just a few years ago all I thought I needed to be “happy” was to get a book published. Now I’ve got four published (and two more shopped out to publishers now) but I don’t have a literary agent, so I didn’t get a book deal with a large publisher for any of them. I’m stuck in a small literary pond, watching lots of my writer friends who are more “successful” than me—some are New York Times best-selling authors, and many (who have agents and publicists) have won awards and reached a much larger audience. I recently spent about six months querying agents (again) for my next two books—a collection of linked short stories and a collection of personal essays. After many rejections, I’ve “given up” and have submitted both books to small presses (which don’t require an agent). I’ve decided to be content—and thankful—if either or both books get published by these presses, which are very reputable and will be good to work with. I’m making up my mind to enjoy this little pond I get to swim in, remembering that Madeleine L’Engle said, “We all feed the lake.” (more on that at the end of this post)

thankful2

 

Close friends tell me how much I have to be proud of, and I get that. I’m working hard and loving what I’m doing, but I’m also realizing how much more I want to experience contentment. A recent experience I had at confession helped. For my non Orthodox friends, the sacrament of confession in the Orthodox Church is (or can be) a very therapeutic thing. It’s not juridical. It’s doesn’t make us “right with God.” It helps makes us right with ourselves. If your priest is a good confessor, as mine is, he will help you see the ways you are hurting yourself or others, and how to move towards healing. The best advice I received recently had to do with being thankful. And I’m finding that the more I practice thanksgiving, the more content I am. I have an incredible number of things to be thankful for in my life, and as I focus on them instead of focusing on what others have that I want, I attain peace. It isn’t a once-and-for-all thing. It’s something I have to return to every day. Sometimes many times a day.

Contement is not chosen

 

One thing Father Anthony talks about in his podcasts is the way that social media amplifies this problem. The things that people post on Facebook or Instagram (my two go-to social media sites) are usually their best selves. Their accomplishments. Their beautiful families, vacations, homes, meals, children, etc. Bombarded with this, it’s hard not to compare myself with them. Father Anthony recommends taking a time out from social media, or even considering quitting it altogether, but I’m unwilling to do that at this point. I have too many good connections there with friends who live all over the country, and I don’t want to give those up. But I do want to respond differently to the multitude of posts that tend to make me feel less than. Instead of feeling jealous, I am working to be genuinely happy for other people’s successes. And I truly am happy for so many people I’ve come to care about and respect and even love.

 Father Anthony takes this issue a step further in his second podcast, Fighting FOMO Part 2. “FOMO” is “Fear Of Missing Out.” I don’t experience this as much as younger folks might, but sometimes I do, when I read about people I know who are doing fun things that I wish I was also doing. I have an 83-year-old friend who has shared with me much about the good changes we can expect with aging, including contentment with a quieter, much less “exciting” lifestyle.

 So, I’m going to continue to fight OCD with thankfulness, and jealousy with genuine joy for others’ good fortune. I’ll close with these words from one of my favorite authors:

 “If the work comes to the artist and says, ‘Here I am, serve me,’ then the job of the artist, great or small, is to serve. The amount of the artist’s talent is not what it is about. Jean Rhys said to an interviewer in the Paris Review, ‘Listen to me. All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don’t matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake’.”
― Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art

The Zosima Society, Collective Wisdom Project, and the New Hagiography

zosima society IG imageI recently came across Andrew Herman Middleton’s Facebook and Instagram pages, known as “The Zosima Society.” He also started a Facebook group called “Orthodoxy and Culture,” which currently has 288 members. The description for the group is:

This is a place to discuss how Orthodoxy influences culture, and what kind of culture is beneficial to the Orthodox spiritual life.”

Andrew’s Facebook page is “Orthodoxy + Arts” and his page description says:

“An international network of Orthodox Christian non-liturgical artists. Previously OrthArts.”

CB on Zosima SocietyAndrew features non-liturgical artists, musicians, and writers who are Orthodox in his Instagram posts, and has recently begun a series based on my novel CHERRY BOMB, which features an Orthodox monastery, church, nuns, saints, and even weeping icons. He uses the hash tag #zosimasociety for each post, and featured the first one for CHERRY BOMB on Monday, August 6—the Feast of the Transfiguration. Here’s what his post looks like (left). Follow him on Instagram for future posts.

He is also host of the Protecting Veil You Tube Channel, home of the “Collective Wisdom Project.”  Here’s a recent interview he did with Father Stephen Freeman, “Why Did You Become Orthodox?” Andrew hopes to be in Memphis in the next few weeks and has asked me for an interview, so stay tuned.

I’m not sure how he balances all of these projects, but Andrew also has a site called “New Hagiography” which is “the ancient indie folktronica project of itinerant musician Andrew Herman Middleton.” So, what’s the New Hagiography about?

Ancient holy men and women played an important role in the history and development of Western culture, but knowledge of many of them has been  forgotten. Who were these intriguing figures, what animated their lives, what were their hopes and dreams?

New Hagiography retells their stories, beginning with the flowering of Celtic Christianity in 5th century Ireland.

A note about terminology: iconography refers to painted images of Christ and the saints; hagiography refers to the writing of their stories with words.

I’m so happy to have found Andrew and his projects, and I hope that other non-liturgical Orthodox writers, artists and musicians will join him in sharing their work at #zosimasociety.

Transfiguration: People Can Change

Transfiguration1-e1353430693909Today is the Feast of Transfiguration in the Orthodox Church. (Read about this feast at the icon here.) I went to Vespers at St. John Orthodox Church here in Memphis last night, which was beautiful. The icon of Transfiguration at dusk made the reality of what was happening on Mount Tabor more tangible, which is one of the things I love about the Orthodox Church. It offers an embrace for all the senses, with prayerful chanting, incense, and the glow of candlelight on the gold leaf halos of the icons. I wasn’t feeling well this morning, so I didn’t make it to Liturgy for the feast. But at home I prayed before our icons and thanked God for the way He is transforming me into His image, which is what this feast is all about

Eight years ago I wrote a post about this:

“Can People Change?” (Click on the link to read the post.)

And then six months ago, on my birthday (March 8) I did a follow-up post:

“Birthday Musings: People Can Change” #sixmonthswithoutadrink

I don’t really have much to add today, except that I am full of joy and thanksgiving for the way that God is helping me to change as I grow older. In case you aren’t taking time to click on one of the links above and re-read those posts, I’m going to share my favorite quote from Dr. Jamie Moran’s essay, “Orthodoxy and Modern Depth Psychology,” in the book, Living Orthodoxy in the Modern World:

People who leave a space for God—even for the ‘hidden’ God, which is what the Holy Spirit is: God’s humility—can be helped, and can change. They can learn to live with the most extreme damage and suffering and yet still find joy in life…. People who leave a space for God are able to make that change of heart, not for any sentimental reason or out of any moral superiority, and certainly not because of what is conventionally called piety, but because and only because, despite their selfishness, they truly acknowledge and have faith in a force that is greater than themselves. They are willing to open their selfishness up to that greater force, and in opening its closed system, to begin to let life teach it its mistakes and heal its wound, and comfort its genuine suffering.

Dormition-of-Theotokos1I love that this feast comes half-way through the Dormition Fast, because the Mother of God plays a big part in our transfiguration, in our change. In his homily yesterday Father John Troy (Mashburn, our pastor emeritus) talked about healing, and how we must come to Jesus for healing, or someone must bring us to Jesus. I started thinking about HOW to bring people to Jesus for healing, especially if they don’t physically come to church. I remembered what my “yia-yia” Urania Alissandratos told me years ago when she was still living and “mothering” so many of us at St. John. When her children left home for college, she would “bring them to God” by symbolically bringing them to the Mother of God and leaving them in Her care. She did this symbolically by decorating her icon on the solea at church with flowers every year on the Feast of the Dormition (falling asleep) of the Mother of God. At Vespers last night, I found myself praying for loved ones who weren’t there by bringing them to the Mother of God, mentally, spiritually, even physically and emotionally as I wept tears for them. We all need healing, and I know several people who have “brought” me to Christ and to His Mother for healing over the years. I hope that I am paying that forward by bringing others to Him in my prayers. I look forward to another opportunity to do that tonight, as we pray the Paraclesis Prayers to the Mother of God at St. John.

Icons Will Save the World

My friend Dr. Joanna Seibert invited me to contribute a guest post to her beautiful blog, “Daily Something.” She’s doing a series of reflections on quotes and images, and I was honored that she included an excerpt from an essay I had published eleven years ago in First Things, “Icons Will Save the World.” Here‘s the post, with the excerpt:

“Icons”

Nave of St. John Orthodox Church in Memphis, Tennessee, which is mentioned in the excerpt

Nave of St. John Orthodox Church in Memphis, Tennessee, which is mentioned in the excerpt

 

static1.squarespace.comI can’t remember how I first met Joanna, but we’ve been friends for many years, and have visited both in Memphis and in Little Rock, Arkansas, where she lives. She is an emeritus professor of radiology and pediatrics at Arkansas Children’s Hospital and the University of Arkansas Medical Sciences and has been an ordained deacon in the Episcopal Diocese of Arkansas for sixteen years. Joanna is the author of numerous books including, The Call of the Psalms, a Spiritual Companion for Busy People and The Call of the Psalms, a Spiritual Companion for People in Recovery, Healing Presence, Taste and See: Experiences of God’s Goodness Through Stories, Poems, and Food as Seen by a Mother and Daughter, and a two-volume series of sermons, Interpreting the World to the Church.  She has been a writer for Forward, Day by Day, and has been a frequent contributor to the Living Church, and the Anglican Digest.

Subscribe to Joanna’s “Daily Something” and enjoy her inspirational quotes, art, and meditations.

Read more about St. John Orthodox Church, which is pictured above.

 

Why I’ll Miss My 50th High School Reunion Next Year

Kathy Kerr and me at Lemuria Books in 2017

Kathy Kerr and me at Lemuria Books in 2017

Friday I had lunch with Kathy Moore Kerr at Char, my favorite restaurant in Jackson, Mississippi. (Can’t believe we didn’t take a selfie!) Kathy was matron of honor at my wedding, 48 years ago June 13. We’re in touch on Facebook and Kathy has come to several of my book signings at Lemuria, and is a big fan of my writing, which I greatly appreciate. But we haven’t gotten together for a visit one time in the 48 years since she was in my wedding! We talked about why that happened—how our lives took off in such different directions, although we lived in the same city from 1970-1988, when I left Jackson for Memphis. It was wonderful to catch up with her.

With Cissy Jackson Carter, May 2018

With Cissy Jackson Carter, May 2018

And not too long ago I had lunch with another classmate, Cissy Jackson Carter, which we’ve done a couple of times in the past few years, and we talked about our memories of high school and what our lives have been like since. The older I get, the more I value those memories and the people I “came of age” with back in Jackson.

But when I walked into the restaurant yesterday to meet Kathy, I ran into four more of our classmates who live in Jackson—Ginny Wright Phillips, Susan Sledge Ingram, Jane Conner Walsh, and Nell Inda Breed Lutken. I wish I could have visited with all of them!

I was so excited when I heard that my 50th high school reunion—for the Murrah High School Class of 1969 in Jackson, Mississippi—was scheduled for next April rather than in the heat of the summer.  And it will be at a lovely new venue in Brandon called McClain Lodge. I was about to make a reservation for my husband and I to spend the night there the evening of the reunion, when I thought for a minute about the date. April 27, 2019. What could possibly conflict with that date, almost ten months away?

The only thing I could think of that might keep us away from the reunion was Pascha—Orthodox Easter. So I Googled “Orthodox Easter,” and wouldn’t you know it’s April 28 in 2019. (In case you weren’t already aware that Eastern and Western Christians celebrate Easter on different dates most years, here’s a little more about that.)

Why is this such a big deal to me? My husband and I are converts to the Orthodox faith. After leaving the Presbyterian Church and going on a seventeen-year (yes!) spiritual journey with a group of other Southern Protestant ex-pats in the 1970s and ’80s, we landed in the Antiochian Orthodox Church in March of 1987. Pascha—the celebration of Christ’s resurrection—is the highest feast of the year. As a lay person, I’ve only missed it twice in the thirty-one years since I’ve been Orthodox. And my husband—whose day job is working as a physician—is also an ordained Orthodox priest, and he has never missed Pascha. Since 1988, when we moved to Memphis, he has served as Associate Pastor of St. John Orthodox Church. It would be unthinkable for him to miss Pascha.

When I told my classmate A. B. Clark Nichols, who keeps all of us informed about the goings-on of the class of 1969 and is one of the major organizers of the reunion, about my conflict, she was sad that I would be missing the reunion. She said the committee was considering adding an event on Friday night, the night before the main event, and would I be able to come then? I responded by telling her about Holy Friday, and the wonderful services that day and evening. And Holy Saturday, and how my husband always leads that service at 10 a.m. on Saturday morning. So no, we wouldn’t be able to come on Friday night, either.

Father Basil (aka Bill Cushman) tossing rose petals and bay leaves during the Holy Saturday service at St. John Orthodox Church in Memphis

Father Basil (aka Bill Cushman) tossing rose petals and bay leaves during the Holy Saturday service at St. John Orthodox Church in Memphis

The situation also reminded me that although Orthodox Christianity is the second largest Christian denomination in the world—second only to Catholicism—it is very much in the minority in the southern part of the U.S. In my high school class of just over 400 people in Jackson, Mississippi, I think that only three of us are Orthodox, that I’m aware of. One is Greek and was probably baptized and grew up in the Greek Orthodox Church.  And one other person who became Orthodox at the same time as I did, in 1987. So, it looks like Orthodox Christians represent about 0.75% of our class. Definitely a minority.

All this to say that while I am very sad to be missing this milestone—one’s 50th high school reunion is a big deal—and especially the chance to visit with so many old friends, it’s understandable that the planning committee didn’t notice that April 28, 2019 was the date for Orthodox Easter.

This conflict of cultures is one of the reasons I wish that the Orthodox Church celebrated Pascha on the same date as Western Easter. Having different dates often puts us out of sync, not only spiritually—going through Lent at different times from our Catholic and Protestant friends—but also with family events. When our daughter was playing competitive soccer, we missed Palm Sunday more than once because there was an important soccer tournament in Texas or Oklahoma that weekend, which was Easter weekend for most of her teammates and their families. I wondered why they didn’t mind missing Easter back home in their churches, but for many people Easter week/weekend is just a secular vacation like spring break.

Bride and maids

 

Six of my eight bridesmaids back in 1970 were classmates from the Murrah High School class of 1969: Kathy Moore (Kerr), Penny Shelton, Sally Sherman (my roommate my freshman year at Ole Miss), Kay Wilkinson, Sandra Kerr, and Brenda Logan. And nine of my eleven tea girls (remember when we had tea girls?) were also classmates: Kathy Fitts, Margaret Irby, Phyllis Ainsworth, Sharon Scott, Pat Pray, Elizabeth Cochran, Claire Hines, Louise Wise, and Karen Himes. (Phyllis, Pat, Claire and I pledged Tri Delt together at Ole Miss in the fall of 1969.) I was hoping to get to visit with many of them at the reunion, another reason I’m sad about the conflict.

Tea Girls 2

 

Knowing that I’ll miss the reunion motivates me to try to get/stay in touch with more of my classmates in other ways. Many of them live in Jackson, but I don’t visit as often as I did when my mother was living. It’s only 200 miles away, so maybe I’ll just schedule some mini-reunions as we approach 50 years. And of course I’ll think about everyone at the reunion on April 27 when I’m at St. John Orthodox Church in Memphis late into the night and early into the morning of the 28th, shouting joyfully with my fellow parishioners, “Christ is risen! Indeed, He is risen!” (Under my breath I’ll be thinking, “Go, Mustangs!” and humming “Be young, be foolish, be happy!”)

Memento Mori, Orthodox Theology, Tattoos, and Flannery O’Connor

Jon tattooI had never heard the Latin phrase, “memento mori,”until a couple of weeks ago when we were in New Orleans, having dinner with our son Jonathan one night. He showed us his new tattoo (see photo at right), which has the phrase at the bottom of the picture. I asked him what it meant, and he said it was an Army thing…. Something from Caesar that meant “remember you will die,” or something similar. Jon spent twelve years in the army, flying helicopters for two of his three tours in the middle east, often facing death up close and personal.

Melissa Conroy artI Googled the phrase later and the closest translation I found was similar—“Remember that you have to die.” I read more about its military origins, especially as it related to “Roman triumphs.”

A couple of days later, I discovered some art work Melissa Conroy (Pat Conroy’s daughter) posted on Instagram (see left) and couldn’t believe that it was also about memento mori. So, having never heard the phrase, now I was seeing it twice within a week or so. Was there a message there for me? Oh, but wait….

Confessions RIVERThe next day I started reading (an advance readers copy of) River Jordan’s upcoming book, Confessions of a Christian Mystic, (which is awesome and will be out in 2019) and, if you can believe this, the title of chapter 6 of her book is “Memento Mori”! How synchronistic—or maybe, how mystical!

When Jon first told me about the phrase, I thought about how the Church fathers often referred to something similar, encouraging Christians to keep their death before them at all times, so that they would live more godly lives. I found St. Ignatius Brianchaninov’s “On the Remembrance of Death,” and read part of it again. Written primarily for monks, it’s a bit more intense than I can embrace in my current lifestyle, but the concept of living as though one might die soon isn’t a bad thing.

Mom and Dad graveI had the opportunity to have my own death brought closer in my mind this past week, when I visited the graves of my mother, father, brother, and Goddaughter—all within a few feet of each other—at Natchez Trace Memorial Park in Madison, Mississippi. My mother Effie Johnson died two years ago May 22. My brother Mike Johnson died eleven years ago this past January. And this year I will commemorate the twenty-year anniversary of the deaths of my father Bill Johnson (July 9) and my Goddaughter, Mary Allison Callaway (September 18).

Mary Allison's graveAs I brushed the dirt off the grave markers and placed fresh flowers in the vases, I sang “The Angel Cried,” and shouted, “Christ is Risen! Indeed, He is Risen,” and then spent some time sitting on a bench under a beautiful tree near the graves. I talked to each of these four people I loved so much. And I also thought about my own death. I thanked God that He has allowed me to live my 67 years so far, and hasn’t taken me during times (days, weeks, months, or years) when I was angry, or when I was withholding forgiveness from others. With much joy I realized that I am more at peace now than I’ve ever been in my life, and for that I am so grateful. Maybe I’m beginning to learn to live like I am dying.

Mike's grave

Meanwhile, a few more reflections on tattoos. My husband doesn’t like them. Lots of folks don’t. I didn’t always, as my kids remember. But I do now. Maybe for the same reason that I like graffiti, when it’s done as art and not as a gang message. I can see how folks would like to use their skin as a canvas to share a message. About nine years ago a group of women got together for a Groupwtattoosgoing-away-party for my Goddaughter Julie Stanek (now Julie Stell) who was moving to Pennsylvania. Part of the fun included temporary tattoos—several of us, including Julie, were artists and it seemed a fitting way to remember the day. I did a couple of posts back when some of us were gathering at Julie’s to do art together. We called ourselves the “Mixed Bag Ladies.” Here’s another post about the group.

BreaktheSkin-cvr-768x1167As I was reading another advance readers copy this week—this time it’s Lee Martin’s upcoming short story collection, The Mutual UFO Network,—I remembered one of his earlier books, titled Break the Skin. I Googled the cover because I remembered that it had this haunting image of a woman with a beautiful tattoo. Its design reminds me of some of Mare’s graffiti in my novel Cherry Bomb. Lee is an amazing writer who was a Pulitzer Prize finalist for his novel, The Bright Forever. More synchronicity….

parkersback1And finally, having just finished “launch week” for my new anthology, SOUTHERN WRITERS ON WRITING, I realized that at each of the three events—at Square Books in Oxford, Mississippi, Lemuria Books in Jackson, Mississippi, and Novel Books in Memphis—at least one panelist mentioned Flannery O’Connor. An inspiration to many southern writers and readers, her short story “Parker’s Back” involves a tattoo of a Byzantine icon of Christ on the back of one of the characters. The first time I read the story I loved how O’Connor tied her gritty southern character to Byzantine iconography, and I hoped to emulate her as characters in my novel and also in a short story I recently drafted are changed by icons. I’ll close with an interesting article I found today by an Orthodox priest Father James Coles, “Man is an Icon of God,” in which he talks about “Parker’s Back.” Thanks, always, for reading.

 

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