What's in a name?

A number of people - particularly those who know me as Michael - have expressed curiosity over my adoption of the name Cyprian.

It really isn't the exciting story that you might hope it to be but, well... here it is.

When I was new to Orthodoxy, I interacted with many Orthodox Christians online to learn as much as I could and to become familiar with Orthodox faith, practice, and culture.  I understood from these interactions that I would take a saint's name at some point, and it was explained to me that, as part of my catechumenate, my priest would ask me which saint I would like as my patron.

So, I was made a catechumen (in the Byzantine calendar, on the feast of the miracle of St Michael at Colossae), and given the name Michael.  Some months passed, and I wasn't asked, so I made the enquiry about taking a new name, only for my priest to explain that I had already been made a catechumen with the name of Michael.

It turns out that the advice I had been given online reflected only one practice, and that there is another, which is based on the understanding that, if you already have a saint's name, that saint has led and guided you to the point of knocking on the Church's door, seeking entry, and ought not to be abandoned.

I asked about changing my name when I was ordained a reader and then again a subdeacon, but was told that this is not the custom of the Russian church.  So I was stuck with Michael.

Yet it was questions of ecclesiology that had caused me to begin exploring Orthodoxy in the first place, and it was in the writings of St Cyprian of Carthage that I had found clarity and answers.  While they may not be the answers I would entirely subscribe to today, they were pivotal on my journey into Orthodoxy, and I value his writings immensely.

Also, in the life of St Cyprian, I saw myself - both as what I was and also what I hoped I might be.

After the Roman persecution of Christians under the emperor Decius, St Cyprian was very hard on those who had fallen, and who had offered sacrifice to the emperor, and even on those who had not done so but who had signed false documents claiming to have done so to preserve their safety.  As a bishop, and a nobleman of means, he was able to go into hiding, so was really quite unfair to those who did not have the resources and privileges that he had had.

In this, I saw something of myself - quick to point out what is right and proper, and not always stopping to take account of the human cost of doing the right thing and the real difficulties that this might pose for some people.

Yet, in the later persecution under the emperor Valerian, St Cyprian did not go into hiding but stayed with his people as their pastor, and so he was arrested and martyred, boldly confessing the Faith of Christ even to the point of death.

Is this something that I would do?  I would like to say yes but the reality is that I cannot know that until faced with the situation myself.  However, I know that I have a holy advocate and example in the person of St Cyprian of Carthage.

Therefore, shortly after my reception into the Orthodox Church of the Gauls, I asked my bishop's blessing finally to take the name of Cyprian, which he graciously granted.  Now I have him as my patron saint, interceding for me before the throne of God.

We honour you, O Cyprian, as a true shepherd who with your sacred words and divinely-wise doctrines have shown us the boundary-stones marking out the one Church of Christ.  Even to death you bore witness with courage; wherefore, we extol you as a bishop and martyr. Entreat Christ that we all may be saved.

Kontakion, tone 2 

My Mother

Today is a Soul Sabbath, when we pray for our dead.  Yesterday would have been my mother's birthday and the 13th of this month will be her anniversary.

Of your charity, please pray for the repose of Stella.  She was not an Orthodox woman but she loved the Lord.

Mirfield

When I was an Anglican, I used to make an annual personal retreat of a few days to the House of the Resurrection.  As many will know, this is the mother house of the Anglican monastic Community of the Resurrection.  I would go each year for four or five days surrounding the feast of the Conception of the Mother of God.

For a suburb-dweller from South Manchester, accustomed to 20-hours-a-day public transportation, meals available at all hours of the day or night, and the hustle and bustle of city life, a Yorkshire village in December was an entirely different world.  It was a very easy journey.  I lived near to Manchester Airport at the time so only needed to walk to the airport to get the train to Huddersfield.  From there, it was a short walk to Huddersfield bus station, and this is where there was the first sign that I was about to enter something entirely alien to my experience:

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New Converts, Beware!

I begin to compose this post with a few disparate ideas floating around in my mind. Perhaps by the end they will have bounced off each other and arranged themselves into some sort of coherent structure.

As I have said in the past, before I first made contact with an Orthodox priest and began worshipping at an Orthodox parish, I learnt much about Orthodoxy through books and the internet. For all of the good such learning brings, the method can have its disadvantages, one of which, in my case at least, was that when I arose from the font a new creature I did so with all sorts of ideas of what the Church ought to be, how She ought to look and conduct Herself, how She could do things better.

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A Milestone

Thou art baptised, thou art illumined, thou hast been anointed with the Holy Chrism, thou art sanctified, thou art washed: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

-from the rite of Chrismation

Today marks the fifth anniversary of my entry into Christ's Church. On the 6th of February, 2006, being the 19th of February by the civil calendar, I received the double Sacrament of Baptism and Chrismation. This was to have been at Pascha of that year but, for particular reasons, was brought forward to the Sunday of the Prodigal Son, itself a very fitting time for being received as an adopted son of the Father.



This year, the Sunday of the Prodigal Son falls tomorrow, and in preparation I have been reading the homily of St Gregory Palamas on the Prodigal Son. He makes some very good points about the detail of this parable that I had never previously considered, and makes me realise just how much I have inherited as a child of God. When I, as a result of my baptism, am able to stand with my brothers and sisters and cross myself, and sing 'Our Father', I am claiming all that is promised to the children of God who are adopted through the grace of baptism. The kingdom of God, the riches of heaven, the promise of growth into the life of God: I find this astounding once again, and it is in the Liturgy that I find this in its fullness.

There are two points in this homily that touch me most. St Gregory points out that the father in the parable only divides his estate into two portions: one for each of his sons. Nothing does he hold back for himself, having no need of such and being filled with generous love for his sons. It is only we who are in need of the grace that emanates from God. The second is that the Son demands of the father what he has no right to even request. The inheritance that is alotted to him is given only because of the father's loving generosity and is his. It reminds me of how much of what is good is often taken for granted and how little I sometimes acknowledge the source of these things.

I was also pleased and not a little disturbed to find elements of St Gregory's homily that bear directly on my struggle of faith last year, as though he himself had endured the same thing. Of course, it is perfectly possible that he had.

In any case, five years have passed, I have been relieved of many romantic ideas and like to think that I have grown a little amidst the numerous failures, thanks to those who have looked after me and guided me. I look forward to seeing where the next five years take me.

Having foolishly abandoned thy paternal glory, I squandered on iniquities the riches which thou gavest me. Wherefore, I cry to Thee with the voice of the prodigal son, saying, 'I have sinned before Thee, O compassionate Father. Receive me as one repentant, and make me as one of thy hired servants.'

-Kondak from the Sunday of the Prodigal Son

Most Ancient of All Mysteries: the Great Omophor

One thing I came to love about Orthodox church life very early on in my journey into it is the way in which elements of liturgical life actually mean something. By this, I mean that they are not simply interesting things we do, whose symbolism is an optional extra for people who like That Sort Of Thing™, and which must be explained to them because it is so far removed from their everyday church life, but rather that they are a normal part of the life of the Church.

This is something that I never really experienced in my Anglo-Catholic upbringing. Yes, we did all of the stuff with all of the bells and whistles, and it was splendid, but it was never anything more than a local conceit. We were always well aware that there were those all around us with whom we were in communion and who saw what we did as something odd, peculiar, and a means by which to define us. Indeed, in many cases it was how we defined ourselves. Rather than the way we worshipped being simply the way we worshipped, it was a badge of distinction that we wore self-consciously. This was no fault of our own, to be sure, but simply the natural result of a situation in which what is right and proper is nothing more than a fringe belief, seen by the majority as something to be gauped at - whether enthusiastically, respectfully or disparagingly, the result is the same.

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Lord, I Have Cried

Lord, I have cried unto Thee, hearken unto me. Hearken unto me, O Lord. Lord, I have cried unto Thee, hearken unto me. Attend to the voice of my supplication when I cry unto Thee. Hearken unto me, O Lord! Let my prayer be set forth as incense before Thee, the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice. Hearken unto me, O Lord!

Above is a portion of the service of Vespers, slightly rearranged from Psalm 140. The Lord, I Have Cried is actually one of the most solemn portions of Vespers for me. Yes, we have the Come, let us worship and I love psalm 103 as the joyful start to the new day and the recalling of our creation but it is only truly at the Lord, I Have Cried, with its repetitious and faithful pleading, 'hearken unto me, O Lord' that my heart is truly called prayer, when I am moved to seek communion with God more fully.

Imagine, then, my pain, bewilderment, and complete sense of loss over the summer of last year, when these words became empty and meaningless in a way that they never had before, when I was going to church and God simply was not there - or so it seemed. It has been known among a small number of friends that I very nearly apostatised last year. I found it immenselly difficult to convince myself that there was even a God left to believe in. It was not something that could be argued logically with any of the arguments from a position of faith that are often presented in debates about the existence of God for this was not an academic rejection of God. It was simply a feeling that God was not there. That God is made perfect sense to my intellect but I could no longer bring myself to believe.

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My Conversion to Orthodoxy

Or rather, the beginning of my conversion to Orthodoxy, which I now realise is not necessarily always a forward journey.

Reading a friend's recent post on his blog, which I recommend to all with particular interest in traditional western liturgy, I very much empathised with his expression of his current frustration and sense of confusion and lack of sure direction. I was actually reminded of very similar feelings when I first began to experience discomfort in my former home. Patricius and I have very different starting points and shall quite possibly have very different ending points but it strikes me that he and Ex Fide, another friend who currently seems to feel unsettled with his former understanding of his current home, may find it beneficial to see that others have trodden similar paths before, whatever destination they eventually reach, (which may well be precisely where they are now, having found peace there once again).

Another thing that I realise is that most of you who read this blog now did not know me when I started it. It started life in early 2005 with the title Sarisburium: Full-Faith and Filioque-Free, (and was at the location now occupied by the Oremus blog of Hieromonk Aidan), reflective of my interest in the liturgical Use of Sarum and my journey into Orthodoxy. It was my first attempt at a blog, even before my Orthodox infancy, (embryonic Orthodoxy?), and was to serve as a place where I could share my thoughts as I explored Orthodoxy, and receive guidance and read the experiences of others. The blog has changed its title, appearance, location, and focus a number of times since then but most everything from those early days is still here and accessible from the archive section in the sidebar, and I am grateful to you all for your ongoing encouragement. Some of those who supported me in those early days are good friends today. Others have since left Orthodoxy and yet others have rejected Christianity altogether. Yet, they were all a part of my online support in those early days, and some of them were among those who asked for me to post a summary of my reasons for conversion to Orthodoxy in the first place.

Therefore, I take you all back in time to August, 2006, six months after my Baptism, when I wrote this:

Conversion

As I said, it was very much the beginning of a journey that has proved to be very surprising and often turbulent, but I think that it may be helpful to at least two of my friends who read my blog from time to time, and sharing it with you all gives you an opportunity to see where I have come from and me the opportunity to update my blog without actually having to be particularly imaginative this evening. :-) I promise that such recycling will not become habitual.

Finally, please pray for Patricius, Ex Fide, and all who are questioning and searching, and experiencing the unease of finding the stability that they had once known to be perhaps now less certain.

Just what is Liturgy?

'I've never really seen the point to historical liturgy.'

These words were spoken by a very good friend of mine a few days ago and they have repeated on my mind on and off since then as I have tried to understand and to be able to articulate why the phrasing didn't sit well with me. I hasten to point out that they were spoken in friendly tones as part of a discussion we were having about the different preferences for worship styles that we and another friend of ours have. It was simply an expression of his own feeling on the matter and not any sort of criticism of mine - I say that because this isn't very clear with the words quoted out of context.

My friend is Roman Catholic and describes his spirituality as charismatic. He has an appreciation for tradition but finds his home in freer, meditative styles of worship with modern music, and without what he might perceive as too much rigidity as far as rubrics and such like go. I think that is a fair assessment, although I ask his forgiveness and hope that he will correct me if it is not.

As readers and anybody who knows me will be aware, I am very much of the view that it is right and proper that our worship be in continuity with and a development of that of those before us, as an expression of the same faith held by those before us. The elements that we have inherited only have any meaning and purpose within the entire organic unit of which they are part, which is the liturgical whole that has come down to us. It occurs to me that this is why I was not happy with the reference to "historical" liturgy. To my understanding, this is not "historical liturgy", as though it were some sort of archaeological exercise, dredging up something that is outdated and from the past. They are living rites with a rich heritage and in use today.

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St Barsanuphius the Great

'Silence of lips is better and more wonderful than any edifying conversation. Strive to acquire humility and submissiveness. Never insist that anything should be according to your will, for this gives birth to anger. Do not judge or humiliate anyone, for this gives birth to anger. Do not judge or humiliate anyone, for this exhausts the heart and blinds the mind, and thereon leads to negligence and makes the heart unfeeling.'

- St Barsanuphius the Great

'Never confuse the person, formed in the image of God, with the evil that is in him: because evil is but a chance misfortune, an illness, a devilish attack. But the very essence of the person is the image of God, and this remains in him despite every disfigurement.'

- St John of Kronstadt

'When anyone is disturbed or saddened under the pretext of a good and soul-profiting matter, and is angered against his neighbour, it is evident that this is not according to God: for everything that is of God is peaceful and useful, and leads a man to humility and to judging himself.'

- St Barsanuphius the Great

'Do we forgive our neighbours their trespasses? God also forgives us in his mercy. Do we refuse to forgive? God, too, will refuse to forgive us. As we treat our neighbours, so also does God treat us. The forgiveness, then, of your sins or unforgiveness, and hence also your salvation or destruction, depend on you yourself. For without forgiveness of sins there is no salvation. You can see for yourself how terrible it is.'

- St Tikhon of Zadonsk

Somebody managed to upset me recently. The truth is that this doesn't take much doing at the best of times but I was particularly hard on this person, perhaps partly because of my own recent struggles with faith, which have resulted in a departure from where I ought to be, and from which I am only now slowly recovering. In any case, I was harsh and judgemental. The only saving grace is that I did not express this to the person himself but, knowing my propensity to over-react and then regret my actions later, I kept my mouth shut, which is just as well as I have since come to learn of the personal difficulties that lay behind his actions.

However, it was reading the quotations above that called me to recognise what I was doing, and how far removed this is from what I want my life to be. It was particularly the words of St Barsanuphius, (which have now been added to the selections from the Saints at the side of this blog), that spoke to my heart and I would very much like to read some more of him. Apart from this, which is on my wish list, does anybody know of any books containing his writings or information about him? I should be very grateful for any help you may be able to offer.

Thank you.

St Michael at Colossae

Today in the Byzantine Calendar is the commemoration of the miracle of the Holy Archangel Michael at Colossae, being my name day and also the day on which, in 2005, I was made a catechumen.

The story of the miracle is here.

It's a spork!

I grew up with the Story Teller series. It was a staple of my childhood and I still have fond memories of nonsense poems, Aldo in Arcadia, and various well and lesser-known stories. This series has become something of a classic, with a magnificent cast and imaginative tales. I wish they would re-issue them. Among the nonsense poems was Edward Lear's The Owl and the Pussycat, which includes the couplet:

They dined on mince and slices of quince,
which they ate with a runcible spoon...

For years I wondered what a runcible spoon was. I must stress that it was never an intensely pressing matter that caused lack of sleep, digestive problems, or anything quite like that. In fact, so insignificant a matter was it that for two decades I didn't think to look it up, but I simply had my curiosity piqued whenever I heard the poem, (which was, of course, during my daily viewing of Anne of Green Gables, in which the poem featured in a performance at the White Sands Hotel). 'Just what is a runcible spoon?' I would wonder. 'What does runcible mean?' 'Is it a spoon that is able to be runced, following the same logic as a flexible rule(r), which is a rule that can be flexed? If so, what is it to runce?' I never found any answers.

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August Church Tour: part 2

O holy Bertram, Ascetic of the Mercian woods, forsaking worldly wealth thou didst give thyself to God. Through fasting and prayer in a cave by the Manifold, thou didst acquire the riches of the age to come. Pray to Christ for us, that we too may be found worthy of his Kingdom.

- Tropar to St Bertram, tone 7

This time: Ilam, and plenty of photographs to share with you of the marvellous time I had on Saturday.

Long-time readers will know that I have a personal attachment to the spring and shrine of St Bertram in the village of Ilam. This shrine in the Anglican church of the Holy Cross somehow managed to survive the desecrations of holy places that took place in the centuries after the English reformation, and stands today a place of quiet pilgrimage for faithful Christians from various places. I made a private pilgrimage there on the day before my Baptism to get water to add to the font, and I have been back every year since then for the pan-Orthodox pilgrimage in August. This year had the highest turnout since I have been going, with about 80-90 pilgrims at the Liturgy, which was concelebrated by clergy from the Russian, Greek, Romanian, and Antiochian churches. I must say, as well, that I was very impressed by the decoration of the shrine, which was the most beautiful that I have seen it so far. The care and devotion that went into the preparation was obvious.

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August Church Tour: part 1

I promised here that I would try to remember to take my camera on my visits to different churches over these three weekends. Well, I managed to remember it today for my visit to this parish. It was my first ever visit to a Serbian parish and I must say that I am thoroughly looking forward to repeating the experience. While I have always been welcomed wherever I have gone, never before today had I felt more immediately at home on a visit to any parish.

I planned my journey last night and was surprised to learn that it would take me considerably less time to travel to St John's than it does my own parish. It involved getting a bus to Rochdale then a train to Halifax. I managed to make use of the wonderful feature on Google Maps that allows one to view street level for many built-up areas in order to work out exactly where the bus stop was and what buildings to look out for immediately before I reached it, (never having been to Rochdale before). I got to Rochdale station, bought my ticket, and made my way to the platform, where I was greeted by a curious site. I took a photograph.

It is St John's Catholic church. I asked about it when I got to Halifax and learnt that, despite its appearance, it was built as a Latin Rite church and was never Byzantine, which came as a surprise given its appearance as Rochdale's own Agia Sofia.

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Time for a Break

My parish priest goes away tomorrow and will be away for three weeks. Our parishioners are spread somewhat far and wide so it is often easier to pray together at home if there is no Liturgy. Last year, a handful of us met for the Hours and Typika on the Sundays when Fr Paul was away and it was quite lovely. However, this year, this will be difficult.

What this means for me, however, is that I get three weeks where I don't have to compile services for a deadline, work out rules of occurrence, typeset music, or journey forty miles and back twice over the course of a weekend. I actually enjoy most of those things but it can be a little tiring at times and it's just good to have a break.

So, what shall I do? Well...

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Employment Agencies

Some of you who know me from outside the blogosphere will know of my difficult employment history. I left a permanent job a few years ago, largely because the business for which I worked was going through a transitional period and there were a number of elements in the new modus operandi that clashed with my conscience. Also, I had moved house since starting to work there so what had started as a 20-minute walk to work had become a 1 1/2-hour bus journey.

Somebody suggested to me that I ought to try finding work through an employment agency. For the benefit of those who have always simply gone and found a job themselves, an employment agency is a business providing services to two sorts of clients: there are the prospective employers who may not have, or may not wish to spend their own resources on finding and interviewing people to fill their vacancies and who prefer to outsource this task; then there are the prospective employees, who may see an advantage in registering with an agency that has a number of jobs on its books. Each person is assigned an agency representative, who is responsible for matching the individual to a job, based on the person's qualifications, abilities, and preferences, and the requirements of the prospective employer. While the individual jobseeker pays nothing for this, the employer pays the agency for the service, and the representative then earns commission on top of his regular salary for each employee satisfactorily placed. This is where the problem lies, for the desire to earn more money often means that care for the proper placing of people in jobs often falls by the wayside, and all manner of dishonesty is employed simply to get as many people in jobs as possible, regardless of the hurt caused.

So...

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The doors! The doors!

Having beheld the Resurrection of Christ, let us worship the holy Lord Jesus, the only sinless One. We worship thy Cross, O Christ, and praise and glorify thy holy Resurrection. For Thou art our God, and we know none other beside Thee, we call upon thy name. O come, all ye faithful, let us worship Christ’s holy Resurrection, for behold, through the Cross, joy hath come into all the world. Ever blessing the Lord, we praise his Resurrection, for He hath endured the Cross for us, and by death He hath destroyed our death.

Shine! Shine! O new Jerusalem, for the glory of the Lord is risen upon Thee; dance, now, and be glad, O Sion. Do Thou be radiant, O pure Mother of God, in the Resurrection of thy Son.

O how divine, how loving, how sweet is thy voice! For Thou hast truly promised to be with us unto the end of the age, O Christ; having this foundation of hope, we, the faithful, rejoice.

O great and most holy Pascha, Christ! O Wisdom and Word and Power of God! Grant us more fully to partake of Thee in the unwaning day of thy Kingdom.

Above are the Resurrection hymns said by the deacon at the Divine Liturgy after the communion of the people. I got to thinking about them after a conversation with a friend last evening who was asking about some parts of our Byzantine Liturgy. The doors open at communion as the Holy Things are presented to the people. They approach to receive and from that point forward, the doors remain wide open, symbolising the Kingdom, which is as fully open to them as is possible during our earthly sojourn.

My parish priest was trained to serve the Liturgy alone, without a deacon, without subdeacons, and without servers. In the missions in Britain, this sort of training is very sensible, in my opinion. I have seen clergy who are accustomed to all of the bells and whistles of a fully-staffed parish

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Room Escape Games

I got into these over a year ago and have become addicted. I'm not very good at them. I usually manage to gather all of the implements and then not have any idea of what to do with them, so I often cheat and look at the walk-through, only to feel defeated and try another one. I have also learnt not to even bother trying to do the ones with Japanese clues because being able to read the text is usually essential to escaping the room. The frustrating thing is when you get half way through the game before the first incomprehensible clue appears. Sadly, I don't have a translator to hand.

All in all, I quite enjoy them and find them immensely therapeutic, (except when I can't solve them on my own). Yet I feel as though it is my dirty little secret. I have never known any of my friends to speak about room escape games so I always imagine this world to be some strange, nerdy phenomenon of which nobody has ever heard and which is best left unmentioned in company.

The White Chamber is my favourite. It was the first room that I ever escaped on my own, without recourse to a walk-through. It is probably quite simplistic by the standards of the more seasoned player but, as I said, I'm not very good at these games. Some of them have very interesting twists so it isn't just about working out hiding places. There are puzzles and mathematical patterns. I did one today that, I discovered part way through, required some knowledge of chess, which I don't have. There are plenty of them to be found here.

Now, what I need for you all to is to tell me that you have been playing these things for years and consider them a normal part of the life of a well-adjusted human being.

Ordination Photographs

Here are some photographs of my ordination to the subdiaconate. I am incredibly grateful to Elisabeth from the cathedral parish for taking these and giving me this record of a very special day. The delay in them arriving was due to her having to re-schedule her return flight from her holiday due to the volcanic ash. I'm glad she eventully made it back safely.

Archbishop Mark waiting while I made my prostrations

The Ordination Prayer (above and below)

Vladyka blessing me to wear the orar (stole)

Vesting in the stole (above and below)

Preparing to wash Vladyka's hands. This is usually done at this point anyway but if a new subdeacon has been ordained he performs the washing.

Washing and drying Vladyka's hands (above and below)

The Lesser Entrance at the Divine Liturgy

Preparing for the washing of Vladyka's hands before the Great Entrance

(left to right) Priest Paul, Subdeacon Aleksander, and Archpriest Thomas at the Holy Unction service.

Subdeacon Aleksander and me assisting Archbishop Mark at the Unction service.

(l to r) Priest Nikolai, Reader Felix, Deacon Andrei and me.

When I Was Your Age...

Many people speak fondly of people younger than they are, saying that they remind them of themselves at that age. While I am still young, I have had a few experiences like this with some of my younger friends and there is a real sense fulfilment in being able to help them and guide them through uncertain times in their lives.

However, what happens when we see traits that we recognise as being among the worst elements of our past selves? I must confess that often my first thought in those situations is that it's a miracle I had friends at all. It's like watching one of the more cringeworthy episodes of Frasier. You know the ones I mean. You find yourself having to hide behind a cushion/teddybear/egg-decorating kit (please don't ask why I have one of these) because you simply can't bear to watch as you realise that the embarrassing scenario unfolding and which you have no power to prevent bears some resemblance to your present or past life. Yet, though it is painful, you find yourself unable to leave the room or change the channel because something about your love for the programme keeps you there, dedicated to the end.

This is what it's like with friendships sometimes. Yet I try to remind myself that it is only through the care and patience of others, and them seeing other things in me, that I was able to grow up a little, (just a little, mind you), and I try to extend the same to others. Yet sometimes I fail miserably and just lose patience. I often think this is very uncaring and disloyal. What happens at those times? What do others do?