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Alumna Nancy Holloway is a retired chaplain and adjunct professor from Berea College. She has a Master of Divinity degree from Yale Divinity School and a Doctor of Ministry degree from St. Vladimir’s Seminary (Class of ’91), and has published articles in several journals. She also is involved in ministry to women at a local jail, and attends St. Andrew Orthodox Church in Lexington, KY.

The following excerpt is taken from her recently published book, The Maternity of Mary, the Mother of God, which she wrote to be used in small group study. On this Feast of Dormition, the falling asleep of the Mother of God, it seems apropos to reflect upon the Theotokos as a model of love.

Chapter 8: Postscript

As the first disciple, the first-deified human, as our Lord’s mother and nurturer, Mary is the first to show us how a human being is to manifest love

We are created in the image of a God who is love, which means that love is our truest nature: love is our most authentic activity; love is our origin; and love is our destiny. We are fully who and what we were meant to be when we are loved and love in return.[1]

This is Mary. To love God totally, she gave herself fully to his will, not holding back any of her “self” and so came into the true selfhood as the mother of God’s son.

Mary defines human love and sit is archetype. And we have seen this love in her obedience, giving birth, nurturing, relinquishing, suffering, and joy. She lived this love in every aspect of her life.

A visionary film about mother love entitled, “Shy People,” which came out in 1988, featured a sophisticated, shallow, New York journalist who insists to her boss that she be assigned to write about her family’s roots in rural Louisiana. She flies down to visit her cousin, to interview her and her family. With her spoiled daughter she arrives at the cousin’s home, to find her cousin and her three adult sons isolated in the backwaters of the Bayous. The brief stay brings a cultural clash between the two families, which results in a radical change in of attitudes on the part of the two mothers, as to what “mother love” really is. The New Yorker, formerly oblivious to her daughter’s drug use, announces to her daughter on the plane home that she will be going to a rehab center when they return. The other, who has refused to let her adult sons leave home, gives them their freedom. When asked by one of them, “Mom, don’t you still love us?” she answers “Certainly, I love you. I always have. I just keep having to learn how.”

So how do we live a life of love and emulate Mary in today’s culture, with its distorted view of love, when the word “love” itself is too often sentimentalized or sexualized? How do we know when to set boundaries, when to relax them; when to hold on and when to let go; when to be silent and when to speak the truth in love?

Discernment is seen by the Church Fathers as one of the greatest and more difficult of the virtues. Yet discernment is needed if we are to know in each circumstance of our life, how to love, how to express it, how to move from self to selflessness. And critical to discernment is a rich and deep life of prayer.

According to the Scriptures, Mary pondered; according to tradition she was raised in the Temple—both of these sources indicating her profoundly contemplative nature. She looked first to God, and with this single-minded devotion, could discern in each situation how to respond in love, fully trusting God in spite of the mystery and uncertainty at every juncture in her life. Trusting God in love, she was willing to be an unwed mother in a culture that stoned such women; trusting God in love, she was willing to go with Joseph when he led her and the young Babe on the dark journey down to Egypt; trusting God in love enabled her to relinquish, to surrender her Child to his divine vocation that was so in conflict with Gabriel’s early words to her; trusting God in love was to suffer, through her compassion, a common martyrdom with her Son, and the culmination of trusting God in love was to receive the mystery and joy of the Resurrection in all its fullness.

At each point, even though not understanding, she trusted God in the mystery and wonder of it all. And at every point, even though her love was tested in a different way, she continued to surrender and be obedient to the glorious task to which she had been called.

So—let us love like Mary. Let us echo her “Let it be to me according to thy Word.” And, how do we do this?

First and foremost, let us deepen our life of prayer so that we will know how our love must be expressed in each situation. Let us nurture in imitation of her nurturing love for her Son, by succoring those in our care, and extending that to neighbor and the world around us. Let us relinquish, when by discernment letting go is more loving than holding on. Let us be silent when speaking would sow discord. Let us be willing to suffer, without understanding why, being at peace in our suffering; offering to God to complete the suffering of his Son. Let us love even those who reject our love. And let us fully receive the joy and mystery of the Resurrection so beyond our comprehension, so that we can manifest its saving and renewing power to the world.

To emulate Mary’s love in today’s secular, hectic, distracting, consumer-driven, fast-paced, and increasingly violent culture is the primary challenge for the Christian. This is the narrow way of which our Lord speaks. Only by being supported by the Church’s prayers and worship, the rich legacy of the Church Fathers, and devotion to the Scriptures can we be faithful and discerning as we live out lives of love in such a treacherous world. And with Mary as the archetype of the golden threads of love and prayer—our model, guide, and intercessor—we can persevere in the call to be changed from glory into glory as we grow into the likeness of her Son.

You may order The Maternity of Mary, Mother of God through Amazon.

[1] Mark O’Keefe, OSB, Awakened by Love (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, Institute of Carmelite Studies, 2014), 39.

Protopresbyter Leonid Kishkovsky

Our alumnus, Protopresbyter Leonid Kishkovsky, rector of the Church of Our Lady of Kazan, Sea Cliff, NY, wrote this touching remembrance of our former Dean, Protopresbyter John Meyendorff (+ July 22, 1992). Father Leonid is also director of External Affairs and Interchurch Relations for the Orthodox Church in America (OCA), and has long represented the OCA in Orthodox, ecumenical, and inter-religious settings. He knew Father John personally and worked with him as a colleague both at the OCA, where Father John acted as editor of The Orthodox Church newspaper, and in intra-Church and ecumenical settings.

Each year, at the end of July, we especially honor the memory of Protopresbyter John Meyendorff, Dean of Saint Vladimir’s Seminary from 1984 until his retirement on June 30, 1992, just a few weeks before his repose on July 22.

Protopresbyter John Meyendorff (+ July 1992)

A better way to speak of Father John’s repose would be to say that he died “in hope of the resurrection.”  These words are used in Orthodox prayers for the departed.  Father John’s theological vision, in accord with the great Christian theologians, affirmed and celebrated the dynamism of our life and our movement toward the resurrection.

In remembering Father John and reflecting on his life and ministry, it is clear that he was a theologian of depth and a teacher of excellence.  In this he witnessed to Christ, to the Gospel, to the Orthodox Faith.  He exemplified intellectual integrity and seriousness and was allergic to untruth in any form.  Theology and teaching were not “academic” endeavors for Father John.

He placed his intellect and his teaching in the service of the Church.  In this sense, he was as much a pastor as he was a theologian and teacher.  During the years of his labors as theologian and historian, teacher and lecturer, Father John achieved respect and recognition around the world in the Orthodox Church, in the ecumenical world, and in academia.  Among the Orthodox Churches, his voice articulated the vision of the Orthodox Church in America, affirming the imperative need for unity and mission.  In the ecumenical and academic worlds, he articulated and bore witness to the Orthodox vision of God’s creation and the meaning and content of human life in light of the biblical teaching on the image and likeness of God in each human person.

As editor of The Orthodox Church newspaper for 20 years, Father John made a major contribution to public discussion of the challenges facing the Orthodox Church in North America and around the world.  He saw his service as editor as a continuation of his task as teacher of theology and history.  He knew that an educated and informed clergy and laity were necessary for a healthy Church.  His birth and education in France were no obstacle to his love for America.  On the contrary, he entered fully into the experience of American Orthodoxy, understanding its challenges and appreciating its gifts and possibilities.

In the story of the autocephaly of the Orthodox Church in America, Father John was more than a teacher and scholar.  He played a key role in the negotiations which led to the granting of autocephaly, working closely with Father Alexander Schmemann and the other members of the team charged by the Holy Synod with the responsibility for dialogue and negotiation with the Russian Orthodox Church.

A central aspect of Father John’s thought and teaching was the calling of the Orthodox Church to overcome the limitations of national, ethnic Orthodoxy through a proper vision and experience of the unity and universality of the Orthodox Church.  This did not mean for him that the national and ethnic realities should be despised or rejected.  It did mean that the true vocation of the Orthodox Church cannot be confined to the boundaries of ethnic and national identities.  This insight guided the “creators” of the autocephaly of the Orthodox Church in America, and still guides our vision of Orthodox mission in America.

The various aspects of Father John’s life and ministry were complementary.  Scholar and priest, teacher and educator, dedicated to the Orthodox Church in America, and honored around the world as a theologian, articulate voice for Orthodoxy in the ecumenical context – all of these dimensions were integrated and harmonious, and all were at the service of the Good News of Christ and the Church of Christ.

When Father John received the Sacrament of Unction not long before his death, he said one word – “Eucharist.”  When the Eucharistic Liturgy is celebrated at Saint Vladimir’s Seminary Chapel, the icon behind the altar table is the icon of Christ giving Communion to the Apostles.  Father John’s vision and experience of the Church was deeply Eucharistic.  As he approached the hour of his death, the Eucharist stood at the center of his vision.  The life and ministry of Father John, as well as his sickness and death, were full of the hope of the resurrection.  And this joyful hope is fulfilled in the Eucharist given to us by Christ.

Reprinted by permission of the author and the Orthodox Church in America (OCA). The article first appeared on oca.org.

By Archpriest Steven Kostoff (Master of Divinity ’81)

Our alumnus Fr. Steven Kostoff, has made education and teaching a central part of his priesthood.

As pastor of Christ the Savior-Holy Spirit Orthodox Church, in Norwood, OH, he has established an annual regimen of insightful studies to nourish and build up his flock: a multi-week Summer Bible Study, a six-week long Fall Adult Education Class, a special Winter Reading Circle in which a work of classic literature is discussed, and an occasional parish-wide discussion event, concentrated for an evening or two on key topics of interest. These are in addition to his classes for catechumens and his burgeoning church school.

Father Steven Kostoff

Moreover, Fr. Steven is an Adjunct Faculty Member at Xavier University, Cincinnati, OH, where he teaches “The Eastern Orthodox Church”; “Christian Mysticism”; and “The Russian Religious Mind.” (He earned his undergraduate degree at Wayne State University in Russian Studies). And, he is the author of The Divine Liturgy: Meaning, Preparation & Practice (Synaxis Press).

In this Synaxis Blog, Fr. Steven shares with us a word about our Lord’s Ascension, reflecting especially upon our heavenly witness to the world, as disciples of Jesus Christ.

Homily, May 25, 2017

According to the mind of the Church, the Risen Lord is also the Ascended Lord. In the words of Father Georges Florovsky, “In the Ascension resides the meaning and the fullness of Christ’s Resurrection.” Though the visible presence of the Risen Lord ended 40 days after His Resurrection, that did not mean that His actual presence was withdrawn. Christ solemnly taught His disciples—and us through them—“Behold, I am with you always, to the close of the age” [Matthew 28:20]. The risen, ascended and glorified Lord is the Head of His body, the Church. The Lord remains present in the Mysteries/Sacraments of the Church. This reinforces our need to participate in the sacramental life of the Church, especially the Eucharist, through which we receive the deified flesh and blood of the Son of God “unto life everlasting.”

Christ ascended to be seated at “the right hand of the Father” in glory, thus lifting up the human nature He assumed in the Incarnation into the very inner life of God. Once the Son of God became the Son of Man, taking our human nature through suffering and death—”the Passover”—and then rising from the dead and ascending to heaven, at no point in this paschal mystery did He discard or leave His human nature behind. For all eternity, Christ is Theanthropos—God and man. The deified humanity of the Lord is the sign of our future destiny “in Christ.” For this reason, the Apostle Paul could write, “your life is hidden with Christ in God” [Colossians 3:3].

The words of the “two men … in white robes” (clearly angels) who stood by the disciples as they gazed at Christ being “lifted up” as recorded by Saint Luke in Acts 1:11, point toward something very clear and essential for us to grasp as members of the Church who continue to exist within the historical time of the world: “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into heaven? This Jesus, Who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw Him go into heaven.” The disciples will remain in the world, and must fulfill their vocation as the chosen apostles who will proclaim the Word of God to the world of the crucified and risen Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. They cannot spend their time gazing into heaven awaiting the return of the Lord. That hour has not been revealed: “It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by His own authority” [1:7]. The “work” of the Church is the task set before them, and they must do this until their very last breath. They will carry out this work once they receive the power of the Holy Spirit—the “promise of My Father”—as Christ said to them in Luke 24:49.

Whatever our vocation may be, we too witness to Christ and the work of the Church as we await the fullness of God’s Kingdom according to the times or seasons of the Father. If we believe in the resurrected and ascended Lord, then we are “witnesses” of Him and to Him to the world. That witness may express itself in words or deeds—or both. Of course, we need to follow the teaching of the Apostle Paul who wrote: “Set your minds on things above, not on things that are on earth” [Colossians 3:2]. Yet, keeping our “minds on things above” has nothing to do with escaping into a dream-like fantasy world or the abandonment of earthly responsibilities under the pretext of a vague mystical inclination or “pseudo-piety.” It is about an awareness that the Kingdom of God is “in our midst” and that our earthly life is a preparation for the life to come, a life we are yearning for with our whole heart. It is that awareness that makes all of our earthly struggles and accomplishments meaningful. And when the Apostle Paul teaches us not to set our minds “on things that are on earth,” he does not mean that there is nothing of value that is on earth. He is referring to the “worldliness” of questionable—or clearly sinful—pursuits that draw our minds away inexorably from “things above.” We are prone to forget about heaven when we concentrate solely on the earth. For this reason alone it is so important to develop a life of prayer, a time when we can “set our minds on things above,” strengthening us for the struggles of our daily life, and keeping the Person of Christ ever before our inward gaze.

In our daily Prayer Rule we continue to refrain from using “O Heavenly King” until the Day of Pentecost. We no longer sing the Paschal Troparion, “Christ is risen from the dead,” but replace it from Ascension to Pentecost with the Troparion of the Ascension: “Thou hast ascended in glory, O Christ our God, granting joy to Thy disciples by the promise of the Holy Spirit. Through the Blessing they were assured that Thou art the Son of God, the Redeemer of the world!”

“When Christ who is our life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory” [Colossians 3:4]

By the Reverend Dr. Philip LeMasters

Father Philip is Professor of Christian Ethics here at St. Vladimir’s, and a member of the Board of Trustees. He also is Professor of Religion and Director of the Honors Program at McMurry University in Abilene, Texas, and the pastor of St. Luke’s Orthodox Church.

Father Philip is the author of several books in the area of moral theology, most recently, The Forgotten Faith: Ancient Insights for Contemporary Believers from Eastern Christianity (Cascade Books 2013). He has been an invited participant at recent international Orthodox consultations on peace ethics in Greece, Romania, and Syria. A graduate of Baylor University and Rice University, he holds a Ph.D. in Christian Theology and Ethics from Duke University and an M.A. in Applied Orthodox Theology from the University of Balamand.

John 5:1-15 (Gospel)

¹ After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. ² Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, which is called in Hebrew, Bethesda, having five porches. ³ In these lay a great multitude of sick people, blind, lame, paralyzed, waiting for the moving of the water. ⁴ For an angel went down at a certain time into the pool and stirred up the water; then whoever stepped in first, after the stirring of the water, was made well of whatever disease he had.

⁵ Now a certain man was there who had an infirmity thirty-eight years. ⁶ When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he already had been in that condition a long time, He said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” ⁷ The sick man answered Him, “Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; but while I am coming, another steps down before me.” ⁸ Jesus said to him, “Rise, take up your bed and walk.” ⁹ And immediately the man was made well, took up his bed, and walked. And that day was the Sabbath.

¹⁰ The Jews therefore said to him who was cured, “It is the Sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your bed.” ¹¹ He answered them, “He who made me well said to me, ‘Take up your bed and walk.’” ¹² Then they asked him, “Who is the Man who said to you, ‘Take up your bed and walk’?” ¹³ But the one who was healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had withdrawn, a multitude being in that place.

¹⁴ Afterward Jesus found him in the temple, and said to him, “See, you have been made well. Sin no more, lest a worse thing come upon you.” ¹⁵ The man departed and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well.

Christ is risen!

We do not like to be dragged down or held back by problems that we cannot solve. Whether it is our own health, a broken relationship with others, or a complex set of circumstances over which we have little control, it is very frustrating to know our weakness before seemingly insurmountable challenges.

That is surely how the invalids, blind, lame, and paralyzed felt as they waited for the chance to be healed by being the first to reach the pool of water troubled by the angel. Due to their illnesses, many must have despaired over ever being healed. The man who had been paralyzed for 38 years was one of those, for there was no one to help him move toward the water. Here we have an image of humanity before the coming of Christ. The Jews had a Temple in which animals were sacrificed, and the pool provided water for washing lambs before they were offered to God. This scene occurs at the Jewish feast of Pentecost, which commemorated Moses receiving the Law, which was given by angels.

Fallen humanity, however, remained spiritually weak and sick. They lacked the strength to fulfill God’s requirements, and certainly could not conquer death, the wages of sin for all those who have fallen short of the glory of God. The sacrificial system of the Temple foreshadowed the great Self-Offering of our Lord on the Cross, but did not heal anyone from the ravages of spiritual corruption or raise anyone from the grave. It was a great blessing for the Jews to have the Law, but surely also a tremendous frustration not to have the strength to obey it fully. Only Christ Himself fulfilled the Law, which is why He can call and empower us to be perfect as our Heavenly Father is perfect. (Matt. 5:48)

In contrast, the paralyzed man represents all who lack the power to move themselves to complete healing, to find the fulfillment of our common human calling to become like God in holiness. Notice that he did not call out to Christ to help him; instead, the Lord reached out to him, asking “Do you want to be healed?” That may seem like a strange question, for presumably anyone waiting by a pool for healing after 38 years of illness would want to be made well. But think for a moment about how we have all learned to adapt to our favorite sins, how we have become comfortable with whatever forms of corruption have become second nature to us over the years. By virtue of coming to Church, we are apparently religious people, but that does not mean that we truly want to be healed. For to be healed means obeying the Lord’s command to this fellow: “Rise, take up your pallet, and walk.” It requires making the effort to rise up in obedience, to be transformed personally in how we live each day, and to grow in holiness.

It would not have sufficed for that man to have remained on his bed and have warm feelings about how Christ had healed him. Just as anyone who lies motionless for a long time will become weak and unable to rise up and walk on his own power, the same will be true of us spiritually if we try to rest content with simply believing ideas about God or having positive emotions about Him. If we are not gaining strength by actually serving Him faithfully, we will become paralyzed and unable to cooperate with our Lord’s gracious healing energies. Any spiritual health that we claim in that state will be a figment of our imagination.

The good news is that the Lord does not simply provide us with a set of rules to follow or services to perform. He makes us participants in Himself by grace. He unites us to Himself, raising us up with Him from slavery to sin and death to the great dignity of those who share in His eternal life. The Savior makes us members of His own Body, the Church. He is the Bridegroom and we are the Bride. He makes us radiant in holiness, like an iron left in the fire of the divine glory. That is how He heals us such that we have the strength to obey His command to get up from our bed of corruption and move forward in a blessed life of holiness.

Though we may not yet have the eyes to see it, this healing and strengthening of our humanity happens to this day through our life in the Church. In our reading from Acts [9:32–42], St. Peter heals a paralyzed man and commands him to get up. He even raises a woman from death. Peter did not do this by his own power or authority, but because the Lord was working through him. He said to the paralyzed man, “Jesus Christ heals you…” Throughout Acts, we read of how the Lord works through His Body, the Church, to enable people to participate personally in the new life of the resurrection that He shares with us by grace.

That is not, however, a life of merely having our names on a church membership roll or of calling ourselves Orthodox Christians. If our faithfulness extends only that far, we will become as weak as a person who remains immobile in bed and refuses to stand up and walk. We must not be like those poor souls waiting by the pool for someone else to move them into the healing water. On His own gracious initiative, Jesus Christ has given each of us the strength to overcome the paralysis of sin through His resurrection. He does not simply give us commands; He gives us Himself. And our life in His Body, the Church, is truly our participation in Him.

We receive His healing of our souls when we humbly repent of our sins in Confession. We are nourished for the life of the Kingdom by His Body and Blood in Holy Communion. When we offer our time, energy, and resources to support the ministries of the Church, we rise up from selfishness to participate in the abundant generosity of the Lord. When we stop thinking of ourselves as isolated individuals and instead as members of a Body with a common life in Christ, we will be able to love and serve one another in ways that will open us to His strength personally and collectively in powerful ways.

In the joy of the resurrection, we must learn to see that embracing our life together in Christ is an essential dimension of obeying His command to “Rise, take up your pallet, and walk.” He calls each of us to turn away from the paralyzing weakness of selfishness and laziness that would make whatever sins we have become comfortable with appear more important than serving Him in His Body, the Church, where the glory and power of the resurrection are fully present.

Think about that for a moment. Pascha is not an isolated event that happened long ago, but an entrance into the new day of the Kingdom of Heaven, which is fully open to us in the worship and common life of this parish. The Savior calls each of us, weakened and held back by the corruptions of sin, to get up and move forward in the blessed life for which He made us in His image and likeness. That is why He died and rose again, to raise us up with Him for a life of holiness, to restore us to the ancient dignity of Paradise.

May this season of Pascha be our entrance as a parish into the joy of the Kingdom. That will happen when we rise up, from whatever corruptions are holding us back, to a life of obedience in serving Him and one another in His Body, the Church. That is the only way to answer the question that He asks each of us today and every day: “Do you want to be healed?”

Christ is risen!

Reprinted with permission by the author: © 2012-2017 Fr. Philip LeMasters · All Rights Reserved.

On Holy Friday, our seminary Dean, Fr. John Behr, delivered a sermon that includes several lines from “East Coker,” the second poem of T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, in which the poet meditates upon the cycle of life—birth, death, rebellion, and return.

In his homily, Fr. John deftly interweaves the poem’s lines with the main theme of Holy Friday: in order to truly be alive, we Christians must follow the footsteps of Christ into death. Through the trials of earthly life, we have to “unlearn” the futility of our tendency toward self-preservation and self-satisfaction, in order to receive immortal life as a gift from our heavenly Father. From the tomb of our own death—as we are co-crucified with Christ and as we enter into a loving relationship of obedience to our Father—will spring forth everlasting life.

Let us rejoice in this Truth during this Bright Season!

Standing at the tomb, having just buried the body of Christ, we enter into the midpoint— the still point—of the Paschal Triduum, the three-day celebration of the Paschal Mystery.

At Matins, we stood before the crucified Christ,
as the chill ascended from his feet to his knees,
and upwards to the hands into which the nails were driven,
as he was put to death,
or rather voluntarily gave himself up for the life of the world,
so that, as T.S. Eliot put it, the wounded surgeon plies the steel,
turning the nails driven into his hands
into the scalpel used by surgeon,
but exercised now with bleeding hands
so that we feel the sharp compassion of the healer’s art,
          questioning the distempered part.

A strange and mysterious reversal takes place here:
we think that we are tending to the dead body of the Christ,
burying him with due reverence and sorrow;
that we are still living and healthy, while he is placed in the earth;
but it is he who is attending to us,
and in so doing, showing us that our only health is the disease,
if we obey the dying nurse.

There is no other path to life than the one that he first takes,
and we too must now follow in his footsteps.
As we do so, we will find out that his constant care is not to please,
to attend to our wishes and desires, for a life happy and full,
but rather to remind us of our and Adam’s curse,

That our attempt to snatch life from the tree, to have it on our own terms,
even if we then resolve to devote some of it to God and our neighbor,
while we do all we can do to preserve our life, to secure it, to supposedly save it,
this condemns us to death—for not having received it as a gift
a gift to be given,
a giving of life in which alone is found that life which cannot be touched by death.

And so, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.
until we too learn, not only in our heads but in our guts,
that we do not have life in ourselves.

With his life spent, expended upon us, and now with his body placed in the earth
The whole earth is our hospital
Endowed by the ruined millionaire,
All our life on this earth, and ending in the earth, is the cure that leads us to life,
a paedagogy, educating us, teaching us that life comes from the tomb,
for it is given to those in the tombs;

And what a lot we have to unlearn!

We spend the greater part of our so-called life trying to be something other than the weak and vulnerable flesh and blood that we are;
trying to be somewhere else;
creating an identity for ourselves, and grieved when things don’t go our way
so that our lives are veiled by sorrow and grief, by suffering,
but not the life-creating suffering that we are shown in these days.
In this earthly hospital and school, then,
we learn not to place our hope on anything we can achieve in it,
or anything that appears in it
for this world too passes away,
and all the monuments and achievements of human beings turn to dust.

And so, placed in this world as a hospital,
if we do well, we shall
Die of the absolute paternal care.

The compassion of our Father is limitless and unconstrained;
we are held in his loving care,
as he works tirelessly and ceaseless in every way to bring us to receive his love and life
to change our hearts from stone into flesh,
broken and contrite, but also merciful and loving as he is and his and our heavenly Father.

This is what it is to submit to the paternal care, to obey the dying nurse
and to undergo the surgery of the wounded surgeon plying the steel.

The medicine he offers us, the medicine of immortality, as St. Ignatius calls it,
is nothing other than his flesh and blood:

As Eliot concludes:
The dripping blood our only drink
The bloody flesh our only food:
and he continues:

In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—
And, again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

Let us, then, now and in the hours that come, prepare ourselves to enjoy the Master’s hospitality at the Paschal Feast;
knowing that we are not sound and substantial,
but prepared to partake of the cup that he has drunk, to its bitter end;
and so become living witnesses, martyrs, in this world and for this world;
inviting others to come and also taste that the Lord is good, chrestos.

Be my witnesses/martyrs, says God through Isaiah;
for I too am a witness and so is my servant.

Then, living this way, in spite of everything, we too may witness that this Friday
is in deed and truth good.

Excerpt from “East Coker” from FOUR QUARTETS by T.S. Eliot.  Copyright © 1940 by T.S. Eliot, renewed 1968 by Esme Valerie Eliot. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

[Photos: Glen Mules]