Wanting a King

“Laughing in a crown of jewels, numbness from a scepter’s wound. Toss and turn, I spin and learn… catch yourself before you burn. Joker’s dance before the king, jingling beads and silver rings. Close your eyes and bear the sound, jumping up; falling down.”

            A warm acquaintance asked me the other day about my conversion to Orthodoxy. Part of that story includes a two (or five, depending on how you count it) year grieving process over the fact that I will never be a mom. Not biologically. He said to me (in essence), “Not to be too personal, but how does that not still just kill you?” I explained that it was a process that for the most part is complete. I won’t be a mom. Sadness of that still gets in my face sometimes, but it no longer threatens to destroy me.

            He then assumed that I must then love Paul’s advice about staying single. Keeps me nice and Biblical, right? Keeps me focused on Christ. I answered with the very truth… Even though I won’t be a mom, I separated that out from wanting to be a wife. Wanting to be loved. Sometimes, I’d like to take good ‘ol Saint Paul and knock him in his sainted teeth.

            Being a single girl is like being Israel during the time of the Judges. A theocracy. I believe that was the time that a conversation between God and Israel sprang up that went a little something like this: “Dear God, we would like to be ruled by a king. A king!! Wouldn’t that be fun?? A king would give us national pride. He’d be so handsome, riding off into battle with our colors, someone to serve at official functions, you know…” God said, “Au contraire, mon frere!! You have got NO idea the problems that having a king would bring. Stick with Me, kid… You’re doing fine!” Israel then goes into whining, wheedling mode. For years. Finally, God relents and gives them just what they want. A king. 

This leads to Saul. And Absalom. Divided kingdoms. Exile. Jews, Christians, and Muslims in a land with 3,000 years’ history of bloodshed and turmoil. We should shudder when God answers our prayers in the affirmative. Sometimes exactly what we want is too much to be borne.

Whether or not I enjoy him (and mostly I don’t), Paul was right. As a single girl, I live in a theocracy. “Your Maker is your husband; the Lord Almighty is His name.” Though God has never shown up to tell me I’m better off just sticking with Him (unless you count Paul’s unsolicited advice as authoritative), I hear myself, just like Israel: “Oh!! God!!! You know what would be fun??? A husband! He’d be so cute around the house. And tall… He might be even tall enough to change light bulbs. He could hug me up tight when I’m sad, and be a date to parties, you know. Serve at official functions.” 

I know that in other parts of this blog, I extolled marriage as a sacrament, which it is. 

I know that here, I am comparing marriage to the war-torn Middle East, a conflict that has raged for millennia. In case you think that is extreme, I caution you to remember that my parents just got divorced. Their conflict has raged for more than mere millennia in my life; it has raged for the whole time. From my view, comparing the two is apt. 

For the most part, life is a ‘que sera, sera’ affair. I am not a seer; not wise enough to know what will befall me. But I will take a moment to consider my wants. To consider that wanting a king and actually having a king are very different things. Official functions notwithstanding.

“Your actions will follow you full circle round. The higher the leap; I said the harder the ground.”

                                                                                                ~Indigo Girls

Monasticism, for a Moment

 Full disclosure: I've never been to a convent, except for one time in high school when I gypped school and was so curious about the convent at St. Joseph that I walked straight up to the doors, bold as brass, and asked to use the restroom. They were kind enough to let me do so. I was greeted with a very cool pink-and-black checkerboard floor, and could hear beautiful voices singing prayers down the hallway. Everything I know about monasticism has come from reading or talking with those that know more than I. Rudiments of understanding. That's all I have.

I gave a talk on St. Brigid Saturday night. If you don't know about her, you should check her out! She was an amazingly generous, holy woman who founded cenobitic monasticism in Ireland. (Essentially, she was the beginning of communities of monks and nuns, rather than monks and nuns living as solitaries.) Irish monastics are responsible for the Book of Kells, preserving Western literature at crucial periods of time, things like that. This was a woman who accomplished a LOT, with long, long lasting effects.

During the talk, I forgot the word monastery. I turned to my friend and said, "You know, that place with the monks?" This is how my ex-Protestant brain works. Teflon in regard to monasticism.

I am a Christian today because of a novitiate at an abbey... or at least the movie version of one. I "asked Jesus into my heart" in 2nd grade because I was dancing around in a field of wheat as if I were Maria VonTrapp. In that moment, I realized that the wheat and sun were REAL, that God was REAL, that He made them, and I wanted Him more than anything.

I have been shocked and appalled at several different Protestant friends who have assumed that now that I am Orthodox, I will want to become a nun. I don't. I am the girl that prayed steadily throughout high school and my 20s that Jesus would NOT come back until I got to have sex!! I'm the girl who, when I rededicated my life to Christ at 16, struck this "deal" in prayer with God: "Dear God, I am all Yours. Forever. But if I am not married by the time I'm 35, I'm going to go have sex anyway. I love you. I just want You to know my plans ahead of time."

I'm not the only person who grew up Protestant who has no regard (or context) for monasticism. I grew up believing that a person is to love God, and love people. For me, loving people meant being of service to others. To be useful. And I've tried to do that.

Last summer, I was driving around the St. Louis Arch talking on the phone (I know, I know) with a former mentor of mine who is Protestant. We were arguing viewpoints about monasticism... her thoughts were identical to mine. But with her, I found myself arguing the other side. I have been told that being a monk or nun is about prayer. It is true that all Christians are called to be joyous always and pray continually. The call to pray is the same whether you are a monastic or not. In a discussion on prayer, I closely questioned a monk one day... about many things. He agreed that the call to prayer for Christians is the same, but said that monks become so because they need separation from the world to live that life. He considers being a Christian... and truly Christian... truly living a life of prayer... in the world much harder than being a monk.

And I believe he's right.

It is in Orthodoxy that I have encountered an idea that would have never occurred to my Protestant mind, that of prayer as service. That prayer itself is just as valid of a way of loving God and loving people as physical or emotional usefulness is. Until I came upon this concept and had been convinced of its truth, I had seen monasticism (and in some ways, prayer) as a wholly selfish act. But how can that be? Who has more power to serve, act, and move? Me? Or God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth?

I have heard it said that it is the prayers of monks that keep the world spinning on its axis... that we would have descended into fire long before now if not for them.They say that a person can become prayer.

Prayer... for the life of the world.

I've always prayed that God would keep me alive only as long as I still  had the ability to pray. I envision myself in a bed somewhere, a shriveled, white-haired wisp of a thing. A little furnace of prayer.

So, as you see, I really have believed in prayer as service all along.

May it be ever more so.

Sight

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see."

A few weeks ago, I got to thinking about St. Brigid of Ireland. She was a contemporary of St. Patrick's, and founded women's cenobitic monasticism in Ireland. The story goes that she, St. Patrick, and St. Columba of Iona share a grave. So you know she was no slouch when it came to being a Christian. 

When I looked her up, I was particularly struck by the story of one of her miracles, and particularly the faith of the nun Dara: 

"The miracles performed by St. Brigid are too numerous to relate, so only one will be given. One evening, the holy abbess was sitting with a blind nun named Dara. From sunset to sunrise, they spoke of the joys of the Kingdom of Heaven, and of the love of Christ, losing all track of time. St. Brigid was struck by the beauty of the earth and sky in the morning light. Realizing that Sister Dara was unable to appreciate this beauty, she became very sad. Then she prayed and made the Sign of the Cross over Dara’s eyes. All at once, the blind nun’s eyes were opened and she saw the sun in the east, and the trees and flowers sparkled with dew. She looked for a while, then turned to St. Brigid and said, “Close my eyes again, dear Mother, for when the world is visible to the eyes, then God is seen less clearly by the soul.” St. Brigid prayed again, and Dara became blind once more."

God created matter and said, "It is good." It is a danger to think that this good world He has given us cannot reflect His glory. "For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse." Romans 1:20, emphasis mine. 

That said, there are times that I think many of us wish we could close our eyes to the cacophony of this world and open them on a bit of peace; a vision of God seen clearly by the soul. Sometimes it's not even God that I am concerned to see, but just a moment of serenity... (My personal need for SERENITY NOW peaks during high-stakes testing season, grade card time, and parent/teacher conferences. Oh... and particular family functions.)

When I was a kid in youth group, I used to think that to "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things" (Colossians 3:2) meant that I was not supposed party on the weekends or let myself get too silly about boys. And maybe one day I WILL stop being silly about boys. But being ancient, as I now am, has afforded me this knowledge: there are many, many good and holy "earthly things" that can still take my peace. 

 I need, I want, I have to do... too many things. These things choke my soul. I think that was why I was so drawn to the story of St. Brigid and the nun Dara. The singular focus on the One Thing that matters is paramount. 

 

 The Greek word nous is usually translated in English as "intellect" or "mind." But that is only a fragment of the meaning of the word. The Orthodox tradition holds that the nous is the "eye of the soul." I think this is the sight that Grace gives us. This is the sight that Dara was accustomed to. 

St. Theophan the Recluse gave this advice on prayer: 

“You’ve got to get out of your head and into your heart. Right now your thoughts are in your head, and God seems to be outside you. Your prayer and all your spiritual exercises also remain exterior. As long as you are in your head, you will never master your thoughts, which continue to whirl around your head like snow in a winter’s storm or like mosquitoes in the summer’s heat. If you descend into your heart, you will have no more difficulty. Your mind will empty out and your thoughts will dissipate. Thoughts are always in your mind chasing one another about, and you will never manage to get them under control. But if you enter into your heart and can remain there, then every time your thoughts invade, you will only have to descend into your heart and your thoughts will vanish into thin air. This will be your safe haven. Don’t be lazy. Descend. You will  find life in your heart. There you must live.”

To descend with the mind into the heart is one way to regain sight with the eye of the soul. 

I pray that I begin to choose, like Dara, to see with the nous and live there. Whatever the cost.

Peace of Christ to you.