The Troparion of the Mediocre Saint

Somehow I missed it the first time.  I know I missed it because I went and checked the Facebook post where it was first broadcast, and I neither reacted nor responded.  Another friend shared it and somehow I missed that too.  But the post below might be the second best post my friend Steve Robinson has ever made.

Ordinary Saints - by Steve Robinson (substack.com)

I've just had the pleasure of spending quite a lot of time with Steve, along with a whole lot of old friends who are at this point just family members without blood relation.  He saw us laugh.  He saw us cry.  We shared stories.  He told us how to build a mission, and what worked for him.  He had ideas we hadn't conceived of, including a couple that might be implemented shortly.  Steve is now a part of that family.

The occasion was that we invited him to speak at Saint Patrick Orthodox Mission in Carrollton, Georgia.  I won't recount how I got to know Steve online, but the short version is through his podcasts, blogs and later his social media accounts and Substack writings.  As part of that, he spent the better part of the weekend with several of us.  But before he came out, he asked our friend Deborah, one of the co-founders of the mission, if the choir would learn "The Troparion of the Mediocre Saint."

Of course we did.  How could we not?  

There were several problems with the request, the first being that Saint Patrick really doesn't have a choir, and the second being we didn't know the music. The second was alleviated when he sent us the sheet music and we realized it was Obikhod Tone 1, which we know like the back of our hand, having used it for years at Pascha for "O Come Ye, Take Light," and at the dismissal in Vespers for "Preserve O God."  To alleviate the first, we gathered those of us who can and usually do sing, and we did what we had done for years and years, only using different words.

What is remarkable about this is not the hymn itself.  That is obviously parody, though with a ring of truth.  What is remarkable is how Steve sets it up.  He talks about how the Church generally canonizes monastics, or bishops, or other remarkable people who did remarkable things.  He talks about how very few married people are glorified by the Church.  But he notes -- correctly -- that being recognized as a saint and BEING a saint are two different things.  There are saints we know, because the Church has shown them forth.  But there are saints we do not know, which is why we still celebrate All Saints Day the first Sunday after Pentecost.  This Troparion was written not to mock the Church, but to recognize with faithfulness and love that the Church knows her own.  God knows His own.  And the fact that someone didn't make it on our calendar does not mean that person did not make it into God's Kingdom. The words of the Troparion are cheeky, but well stated:

By not cursing in rush hour traffic

Thou hast found the way to Divine contemplation

And by working nine to five at a mind numbing desk job for twenty years

To feed thy family thou hast broken the snares of the enemy

By not judging the people of Wal-Mart

Thou hast shown thyself to be an enlightener of all O pure one

Thou hast kept the faith even through the raising of teenage daughters

O holy husband and daddy Bob, entreat Christ God to save our souls

If you watch the video you will see me (singing bass on the far right) look at my youngest, who is singing alto in the choir, and my middle daughter, who is sitting behind her with my wife, at the lyric "raising of teenage daughters." All in good fun.

To be counted among the Saints by the Church, to be glorified in that way, canonized and placed on the calendar, is a great honor. But it is an honor almost exclusively reserved to those who do not seek it.  In today's Orthodox world, a lot of emphasis is placed on looking, acting, talking, and interacting as Orthodox Christians, by which is meant an outward expression. At times it can feel more like a club than a family.  Like people who wear similar clothing or share the same hobbies not because they are into that style or recreation, but because they want to belong in the same group.  But in the Church, in the real world, often what our neighbor needs is not what we think "being an Orthodox Christian" looks like.  Steve told us about caring for his elderly parents.  And that involves choices.  Do I clean and bathe someone who can no longer clean and bathe herself, or do I spend 30 minutes in front of the icon corner saying my prayers?  Do I take dad to the hospital, or do I go to that service that was appointed this week?

Those are really clear examples.  But there are other things, including work obligations, family obligations, taking care of friends in need, which also stand in the way of "the stuff" some folks think makes us Orthodox Christians.  We should no more show forth those things to the world than "the stuff."  Cosplaying the things of God is bad no matter what form it takes.  But the point is, there are a lot more Orthodox lay Christians caring for elderly parents and helping friends who need help and taking the time to fix the sink than there are those who maintain a monastic prayer calendar and attend all the services.  

Our beloved former priest, Father Andrew, once told me "everyone wants a ministry in the Church.  Some folks want to go to the chanter stand or the choir while the chrism is still wet.  Some want to be on a committee or the parish council.  But nobody seems to want the ministry of taking out the trash and cleaning the toilets."  All of those things honor Christ, and in equal measure. And while some of those "ministries" are more visible, there are downsides to visibility.  The cassock sets me apart, but it is often heavy with the weight of responsibility that comes with it.  To the extent that I have to be sure to stand a certain way, not make the sign of the cross in the wrong place, be sure to read the words correctly and sing the hymn properly, and know when those things are to be done. It also carries with it a lot of obedience, to a lot of people.  I answer mainly to the priest, but I am also responsible to answer to the choir director, my brother readers, etc.  There is no glory in taking out the trash.  But no one is likely to give you problems about how you do it.  Visibility has a cost.

Granted, this is also not an either/or question.  We ought to maintain a prayer rule and go to as many services as we can, keep the fasts, celebrate the feasts.  We are called to do that in community.  And we ought to serve where we are called.  My reservations about the weight of the cassock do not outweigh the responsibility I owe to the Church, having accepted it and been blessed by Bishop Antoun, of blessed memory, to wear it.  But we ought not get wrapped around the axle trying to divy up those responsibilities either.  Rather, we should let Christ find us as He pleases, whether it is in the friend who needs help or at the altar on Thursday night for a particular feast or at the chanter stand or cleaning the toilets.  God is with us in all these things.   

The Audacity of Indifference to Spiritual Children

In my last post I mentioned how we are saved in community.  One part of that is that we bear one another's burdens and take care for our brethren.  I also mentioned, however much in passing, some of the hurt that has been caused to my family and friends by the Church.  I have come to realize of late that of all the things that have harmed us in the Church these past few years, the major ones all boil down to the same thing.  In the end, the people charged with exercising authority in our now-former Archdiocese simply do not care about me, or my family, or my friends, or their families.  And I write this not to out anyone or "raise awareness" or some other such modernist trope.  I write it because I think it is vitally important that people know the difference and treat one another accordingly.  

To give context to the sort of care I'm talking about, my current priest, Father Paul, calls me every few weeks whether I need to receive a call or not.  Sometimes he calls to ask how my wife or kids are doing.  Sometimes he calls to ask me to pray for him.  Sometimes he calls me to discuss logistics of my service to the Church (I am a Reader).  Sometimes he just calls to see how things are going with me. The priest at my mission parish's mother church also knows me pretty well.  He doesn't call or text -- he is not, after all, my priest or spiritual father.  But every time I see him he is sure to come up and tell me it's good to see me, to ask how things are going.  He speaks to my wife and my children when we visit his parish.  I have only met our current bishop once, and he is quite shy so he's usually not up for long conversation, but I'd wager if he thought there was a problem with me or my family, he or someone in his orbit (the auxiliary bishop, the chancellor of our diocese, the dean, someone) would contact me.  

That, unfortunately, has not been our experience with the hierarchs and administrators at our now-former Archdiocese.  Right after my family and I left our now-former parish, six people from that parish (comprising three families, including ours) wrote an eight-page letter to the bishop letting him know about certain concerns with the parish.  I have never published that letter and will not do so now, but suffice it to say it was thorough, if irenic.  We were not trying to do harm.  We were trying to facilitate healing.  The bishop waited about a month, and then on very short notice (less than a day) let us know he wanted to meet with us as couples, but separately (so, three meetings over the course of a couple of days).  I feel comfortable saying it is the universal and unanimous opinion of all three families that those visits did far more harm than good.  None of us felt as if we were taken seriously, and before long another of the three families left the parish as a direct result of not being taken seriously and the concerns we raised being essentially ignored.  At the conclusion of the meeting with my wife and I, the bishop told us he would be in touch, that in his words, "we will continue this conversation."  That is the last any of us ever heard from him.  That was a year and a half ago.  

Were that the end of it, perhaps I wouldn't think about it as much as I do now.  But without revealing confidences, I can add that this is not the only time this has happened.  Some of the same issues have now been elevated to the Metropolitan by others, with our names attached to them.  Although this happened months ago (prior to Great Lent), we have yet to hear from the Metropolitan, or his protosyngellos, or anyone else in the Archdiocese, and as noted above, certainly not from the bishop in question.  Not even to ask "how is your family doing?"  Not even to ask "are you being cared for in your current parish?"  Not even to say "we hear you and we're looking into your concerns."

Not even to say "we're glad you're gone and good riddance."

Literally nothing. 

The good news is, we are being cared for in our current parish.  The bad news is, we are not all well. We have friends who have suffered the same indifference.  The people who are supposed to address their concerns are cruelly silent, especially towards their families.  Not one person at the diocesan or Archdiocesan level has asked how my kids are doing, for instance, even on that one occasion where the bishop met with us.  I have considered writing the Metropolitan myself.  That is inconsistent with my desire to move on and let it go.  And yet, it is hard to let it go, because the fact that the same issues have been raised to the Archdiocesan level highlights the lack of concern, which remains constantly apparent in its deafening silence.  None of them care.  If they did, they would at least acknowledge our existence and the existence of our concerns.  

I sometimes wonder whether we have been too quiet.  We certainly tried to leave quietly, with a hiccup or two here or there where we said more than hindsight may have deemed prudent.  I wonder if making more noise might have gotten enough attention to at least have us feel validated, heard, somewhat understood, or at least acknowledged.  But in the end, things happen the way they happen for a reason.  And at least part of the reason this has happened to us, I believe, is to demonstrate to us the damage that indifference does to a soul.  And to show us that being a Christian is not simply going to Liturgy, saying your prayers, and fasting at the right times.  It is loving your neighbor, and truly loving them enough to say "I see you, I hear you, and I love you."  Those things are not implied by your silence, especially when you know.  And rest assured, they know. We tried to leave quietly, so it's fair to say most of our friends do not know.  I do not blame them for their silence.  But the people in authority and with the God-given responsibility to do something about it know.  And their silence is inexcusable.  Good fathers do not ignore their children. 

The famous British abolitionist, William Wilberforce, once gave a speech to the House of Commons outlining the cruelty and injustice of the slave trade.  At the end he said “having heard all this you may choose to look the other way but you can never say again that you did not know.”  The Archdiocese has thus far chosen to look the other way.  But it cannot say that it does not know.  And the fact that it knows means its indifference to us as people comes across as cruelty.  It demonstrates an utter lack of care or respect for those Christ has charged it with shepherding.

Again, I do not write all of this to stir outrage, or provoke anger.  I write it to remind us all to be attentive to one another.  Thanks be to God my family and I are now shepherded by a priest, a bishop, a community, and a parish full of people who care, and show it.  We have a good circle of friends to lean on.  We have our friends in neighboring Orthodox parishes, and their priests.  We have lost very few of our old friends and gained so many new ones.  God grant me to show care to all of them, to my children, my friends, my spiritual brethren, and all within my orbit. Because this lesson is not just for the hierarchs.  It's for me.  Having seen the damage that is done by their indifference to me and mine, I too can never say again that I do not know the damage my indifference does to those around me.  God grant me to do better.

Count the Cost

 

The Church does not exist in isolation.  As I have said here before, we are saved in community.  

Given that, those in the Church are accountable, not only to God, but to one another.  This is true from laymen all the way up to Patriarchs. The higher up that ladder you climb, the more accountable you are, because your words and actions impact more people.

Those of us who have been damaged by the Church perhaps see this more clearly than those whose glasses are a bit more rose-tinted.  Once the Church has hurt you, it is hard to trust in her again. This is especially true when it is not that one person at the parish who grates on your nerves, but your priest, your bishop, perhaps even your Metropolitan.  There is a cost associated with malfeasance.  There is a cost associated with dishonesty.  There is a cost associated with manipulation and deceit.  And that cost is too often measured in the souls who leave the Church entirely, or leave the Orthodox Church seeking refuge elsewhere.  And even when it is not, it is too often measured in the damage to souls who no longer trust, waiting instead for that next shoe to drop.

And yet, as those who have been damaged by the Church, hurt by her clergy and disappointed by her laity, we too have a cost associated with our guardedness, our timidity, and our distrust.  We dare not let the damage done to us become damage to others.  We cannot let our defensiveness damage the souls of those who have reason to trust, and do so innocently.  If we do, we become like the serpent, tempting Adam and Eve to know good and evil, when they already knew good and could only learn evil.  

My simple point is this -- whatever your journey, whatever damage is in your rear-view mirror (or not), and whatever your station -- before you speak, and before you act, count the cost.  The Orthodox Church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.  Our words and actions are more like hand grenades than arrows, and innocent souls are watching.  God forgive this sinner where I have failed in this.

Abundance

As we approach Pascha, we will soon have the blessing of the meats and cheeses from which we have fasted during Great Lent.  The Church fasts in order that the Church might feast.  In talking with my priest last week, he brought up something that has stuck with me since.  Having had time to reflect on it a bit, I wanted to write about abundance.

This was not in the context of worldly abundance, such as we will enjoy in a little over a week from now.  Rather, it was in the context of the things of God -- grace, repentance, forgiveness, and love.  The discussion was about how we tend to categorize things in terms of what is just good enough when it comes to spiritual things, but we're eager to get more than enough of worldly things.  And in talking about those spiritual gifts, Father said "why can't we think more in terms of abundance?"  What he meant was not that we should hoard God's gifts, nor that we should be prideful in how many we can "collect," because that is the wrong framework.  Orthodoxy has never been about balancing out good deeds versus evil deeds, or measuring how well we are keeping up with the various gifts the Church has to offer us versus our neighbor.  Rather, he was saying that we should stop thinking in terms of checking boxes, or doing the minimum required, or how much we receive versus how much our neighbor receives.  Do you attend every service, say all your prayers, keep the fasts strictly, do prostrations and say akathists and all that to your heart's content?  May you ever be blessed.

But if you do not, as most of us do not, then instead of mourning that you do not have time, or that you are inattentive, or that the world drags your attention away, why not instead be thankful for what you are able to do, and where you think you might fall short, resolve to do more?  Not someday, but today.  For those services you can attend, the prayers you do say, the fasting you can do, the love you can give, the service you can provide, be thankful.  God meets you there, and any encounter with God's grace is a good encounter.

The entire Christian life is this way.  We are not collecting chips to cash in on judgment day.  We are actually entering into His life, encountering Him, and walking with Him.  If we're doing that a little, then we still have it all, for God is with us.  If we do it much, then all the more blessed are we, not because we will one day gain Heaven, but because Heaven starts right now.  In the Church.  At our baptism.  In this life.  And the more we enter into it, the more we understand how blessed we are to encounter Him at all, and the more we want to continue in this blessed life He has given to us.  To ask the question "how much grace is enough grace" misses the entire point.  God gives you all the grace you require however and wherever you meet Him.  

So instead of wishing we could do more, or mourning that we do not do enough, or thinking we have done more than others, let us stop thinking in terms of measuring salvation at all and begin thinking in terms of entering into the life of God. He will soon enter Jerusalem on the foal of an ass, and as Father said last year at this time, it is not so that some pagan king can be executed, but so that death itself can be executed.  And a week later, He will be crucified, die, and be buried, so that He may rise again on the third day giving life to the world.  It is that life we seek.  Measuring how fully we receive it runs the risk of either denigrating the gift (if we think we have done less than we ought) or discouraging us from entering into it more fully (when we think we have done enough).  Instead, we should be thankful for His abundance, in whatever measure it finds us.  It is in that simple act of thanksgiving, and not in boasting or mourning in the measure of His abundance, that we will find ourselves wanting to enter into His life more deeply.