Forward, Onward, Upward

I didn't want to look back on this year. I'm not sure why. It was very difficult in a number of ways, most of which I can't talk about here (and even if I could, I wouldn't really want to.) But there have been more difficult years, and I have always been able to highlight the bright spots and gloss over the rough patches and sculpt the whole thing into a chatty, upbeat Christmas letter. This year, I just didn't want to, and I guess I'm at the point in my life at which I've realized I don't have to keep doing things I no longer enjoy.

It has been a year of growth; I thank God for that. I have learned a lot, sometimes at great cost. After my first wretched few days in a grad-level French language pedagogy course, I told a friend how strange it felt that none of these people really knew me as I am, or rather, as I like to think I am: Intelligent. Driven. In control. 

(My classic anxiety dream is not my teeth falling out or forgetting to wear pants or being chased through the woods: it's traveling with my cat. Sometimes I'm at school, or in church, or shopping. Once I was walking through Paris. The common thread is that I have my cat with me, and she's trying to get away, and I'm trying to contain her, and I almost always lose before I wake up in a cold sweat. That is literally my worst nightmare: losing control.)

But, at the same time, I told my friend, it was strangely freeing to be someone else for a change. The me who always knew the answer got to stay home with her feet up, while the other side of her -- the side who tried not to get called on, who enjoyed listening for listening's sake, who flushed with pride when she understood enough of the joke to laugh at it -- that me got to climb out of the cellar, squinting at the sudden brightness, and explore the world for herself.

So here I am looking back, after saying I didn't want to. What I really want to do is look forward. The Church Fathers reduce the spiritual life to three very simple maxims that sound suspiciously Zen, and I believe this is because Buddhism was, like Judaism and paganism, awaiting the fullness of spirituality that would only come with Christ. Still, there is much wisdom in the simplicity of their advice: don't resent; don't react; keep inner stillness. It is only when we are able to "lay aside all earthly cares," as we sing each week in the Liturgy, that we can hear Christ speaking to us. I'm chipping away at the crippling mountain of resentment I've allowed to rule my life, but at the same time, I'm trying not to focus on it, but instead to look over it -- to see the beauty and goodness all around me and to be inspired by it. 

For instance: last weekend I got to chant Matins with a friend who is talented, charismatic, thoughtful -- one of those people I just can't be around enough. Joy pours out of him. He invited me to sing with a smile and an open heart, even though I lack much of the experience and skills needed to keep up with the others; he drew me in toward the music even though I couldn't understand most of it; he cracked jokes that only I could hear to make me more comfortable; in short, he helped me feel like I belonged. That is something at which I am terrible. My extraordinarily high expectations keep me from making those kinds of adjustments and concessions, the kind that are necessary in order to show love truly and freely. But instead of looking inside, when I look outside -- at him, at the light of Christ shining through him -- I don't feel fear and disappointment, but hope and inspiration. I want to change, to grow, to become more than I have been thus far. 

I think that's a good way to end this year.

Lent, Anew

This is my seventeenth Lent as an Orthodox Christian -- which means I have now been Orthodox for longer than I was not Orthodox. But this is the first year I have really looked forward to Lent. I know I need it. My life feels out of balance, drifting, directionless, turned inward. I crave the peace that comes from humility, that only the most focused, demanding spirituality can provide. I think of Saydeh's words: "Lent is a joy." Yes.

Last week I rediscovered the Audio Bible I bought for Rob years ago. I decided to start it from the beginning. At first I found Jon Sherberg's voice uncannily dramatic, distracting. But after the first handful of chapters, I didn't hear his voice at all -- just the stories. Wow. It's been decades since I heard some of them, and it's as if I'm hearing them for the first time. They floated back to me in clumps as we sang the Canon of St. Andrew last week:

• I have rivaled in transgression Adam the first-formed man, and I have found myself stripped naked of God, of the eternal Kingdom and its joy, because of my sins.
• The Lord once rained down fire from heaven and consumed the land of Sodom. O my soul, flee like Lot to the mountain, and take refuge in Zoar before it is too late.
• Leah is action, for she had many children; and Rachel is knowledge, for she endured great toil.  For without toil, O my soul, neither action nor contemplation will succeed.
• Once Joseph was cast into a pit, O Lord and Master, as a figure of Thy Burial and Resurrection.  But what offering such as this shall I ever make to Thee?
• David, the forefather of God, once sinned doubly, pierced with the arrow of adultery and the spear of murder. But thou, my soul, art more gravely sick than he, for worse than any acts are the impulses of thy will.
• I have put before thee, my soul, Moses' account of the creation of the world, and after that all the recognized Scriptures that tell thee the story of the righteous and the wicked.  But thou, my soul, hast followed the second of these, not the first, and hast sinned against God.

About halfway through the 90-minute service on Tuesday, I finally started to pray, really pray. And just then, I caught the eye of a tiny baby who was nestled in a blanket on the floor, on the other side of the wooden lectern where my music rested. As I bowed and reached for the floor with my fingertips, she gave me the full-body smile only a baby can deliver, and I had to smile back. There is joy, too, even in the midst of repentance. Maybe the repentance is what brings the joy in the first place.

2013 in Review

Greetings, everyone! What a year it has been. Our Christmas postcards (mailed today) invite you to read more about our travels on this site, so that means I need to post something more exhaustive than the snippets I've been throwing out every few weeks. This has not been a good year for blogging. But traveling, yes: six countries, dozens of cities and hundreds of photos. Let me explain -- no, there is too much -- let me sum up:

Early in the spring, we spent a day in New Orleans before driving out to St. Francisville for a weekend of fun with our dear friends Rod and Julie, their endlessly entertaining children and their picturesque backdrop of a town:

Yes, it's actually that beautiful there. Don't you read Rod's blog?!

Back home, we planted our annual garden that would later be the victim of our annual neglect. Hey, we were busy. My parents, on the other hand, were far more industrious and took locavorism one step further with the acquisition of eight hens. They started out teeny-tiny, like this,

Rob named her McNugget. The others have more dignified appellations.

And grew to healthy hen sizes by summer's end, when they were filling several cartons of eggs a week.

Not pictured: the hilarious noises chickens make when you get close enough for a photo.

We enjoyed two snowstorms, both on feasts of the Theotokos. Here's Annunciation Day's haul, which gave us a nice long weekend in March.

Poor birdies.

One of the most rewarding things in our lives is our participation in the community of Holy Cross parish, where Rob helps with the gardens, I lead the chanters and we have many wonderful friends. I've also continued to perform with Boston Byzantine Choir this year, including a concert in Montreal in April, where we saw the stunning Notre Dame cathedral and an equally stunning variety pack of weather (rain, snow, hail, wind and sunshine in under 48 hours!) 

I don't think I've ever paid money to enter a church before, but this was worth it!

A couple of weeks later, we celebrated the Resurrection in our own parish, far more humble but just as lovely to us. Here we are gathered outside the doors, where we sing the first joyful "Christ is Risen!" of the year.

Who is the King of Glory?

Despite the fact that we both grew up in Baltimore, neither of us had ever been to Pimlico Racetrack until this spring, when we enjoyed watching and placing bets on several minor races. Rob was the big winner, pocketing $12.50.

Off to the races . . . 

And, a big fan of classic rock, he knows when every concert is happening, so we attend more than I'd like to admit. Here's the Rolling Stones show in Philadelphia, to which he took his father as a birthday present.

Our first big trip of the summer was to Colorado, where Rob had an architecture convention to attend. Afterwards, we spent some long-awaited time with our adopted family, the O'dells, who took us on a grand tour of their home state. Here we are in Estes Park, shivering in the sunshine:

Mountains, Gandalf!

We drove southwest through some incredible mountain passes, winding up in Durango, where we took a day trip to Mesa Verde National Park to see cliff dwellings that were over a thousand years old.

Then, on what became the highlight of our trip, we boarded an old-fashioned narrow-gauge train that took us over rivers, through woods and to the tiny mining town of Silverton. We had coal dust in our hair and wind burns on our faces, but it was the most fun I've had in a long time!

I think we can, I think we can . . .

We were home for just a week when I had to dash off to the Sacred Music Institute at Antiochian Village, where I gave a few classes, including this talk about the experience of Orthodox Holy Week. Meanwhile, Rob was off to Paris, leading another study tour of chateaus and museums with a group of young architectural hopefuls.

Fountains at Chateau Sceaux

This was a very different trip in a number of ways: I missed the first few days because of my conference, but met up in time to help the group navigate out of the city to half a dozen different chateaux of the Loire Valley. Unfortunately, I also picked up a nasty bug somewhere in our travels, but I rested when I could and still managed to have a good time in and out of the city. One highlight was the discovery of the Promenade Plantee, an abandoned rail line that's been repurposed as an elevated greenway.

Viaduc des Arts, Paris

And when we got home, I finally finished my Paris Top 10 series, so you can read lots more there about what we've seen and done on our various trips there. But we didn't stay home for long -- just a few days, in fact, before flying the opposite direction to visit my grandmother on the West Coast, along with my family. Though we have visited this part of the country many times, we enjoyed several new experiences, including the canals at Venice Beach (freakish bodybuilders not pictured:)

California Dreamin'

And we carefully staged this photo in the Joshua Tree park, which may be the peak of this year's accomplishments.

Bonus points if you can name the first three tracks in order!

Once home, we took a vacation from our vacations for a couple of weeks. We celebrated ten years of marriage in late August, but an overnight trip downtown was the furthest we wanted to go for awhile. These house numbers were Rob's gift (look, you try finding an interesting present made from iron!)

This bush is way out of control, but it makes a nice accent.

In September our parish celebrated twenty years of worshipping, serving and witnessing together. It was a glorious weekend, during which we sang more than we had thought possible: here we are during Vigil, which lasted nearly three hours. You can also see some of the incredible iconography that's been finished over the last year, as well as the iconographer's son, the sweetest little altar-boy-in-training I've ever seen. Less than a month after this photo was taken, two of our chanters left to join monasteries, so it's a bittersweet memory. Glory to God for all of our time together and the music of our voices and hearts.

Go team!

In everyday life, we both continue to enjoy the fruits of my labor at Yelp, an online ratings service where I am an Elite member and occasionally get perks like this one, a catered reception at the Museum of Science & Industry overlooking the Baltimore Harbor. 

Baltimore Harbor at Sunset

He took a well-deserved break this semester, earning a sabbatical to research and teach at Morgan State University, where they're looking to develop a mobile app for site analysis. He also spent plenty of time with his two furry daughters, as well as with his new business venture, Appitecture, where he posts frequently. They are launching an extensive website on New Year's Day, so stay tuned for more interesting photos in his upcoming "Places and Perspectives" blog.

Rob's more relaxed schedule this fall brought us yet more opportunities to travel, including a quick trip to New York, where I had a writing seminar to attend and he enjoyed photographing the beautiful fall colors.

Reflecting Pool, Bard College

We visited some friends in the city on the way home. They were wonderful hosts and we had a great time eating and catching up with them. As a bonus, their apartment is walking distance from the Cloisters, my favorite Manhattan museum. It's nestled in Fort Tryon Park where, it would seem, the spirit of Terrence Malick is lurking:

Merveille de l'automne, Fort Tryon Park

And just when it looked like the year was winding down, we took our most ambitious and exotic trip to date. For two weeks in November and December, we traveled with our best friends through Turkey, Georgia and Armenia on a pilgrimage to visit holy sites in a part of the world that has known Christianity from its earliest days.

Constantinople. Not Istanbul.

Our time in Istanbul was basically a series of mini-catastrophes, but once we landed in Georgia, we felt truly welcomed and at home, thanks to the bend-over-backwards hospitality of our lovely friends David and Margo and their intrepid son Dietrich. For ten days they drove, fed, translated and guided us through some of the most incredible sights and stories we'd ever experienced. Having only returned a couple of weeks ago, I need more time to process everything before I can really write about it, but here are some snippets from the trip.

Much of Georgia's spiritual history is connected with Nino, a Cappadocian nun who evangelized the country in the fourth century. We visited several sites connected with her, including the monastery where she is buried. On the grounds there is a sacred spring that appeared, miraculously, when the nuns needed water (and then, just as miraculously, disappeared and reappeared in a hidden spot when the convent was under persecution by an invading army.)

Path at Bodbe Monastery

It was nearly freezing the day we visited, but we went for a dip in the chilly water and prayed -- quickly! -- for a blessing before toweling off in the little stone house and putting all of our layers back on. When the boys were in the water, we heard Matt's voice through the tiny window: "Well, Rob, what do you think of this Orthodox thing now?"

Sioni Cathedral, Tbilisi

Probably what we all thought, which was: the culture there is so steeped in faith, it is truly a marvel. It has endured centuries of persecution, first by the pagan Persians, then by the Muslims and most recently at the hands of the Communists. Its churches and monasteries have been burned, demolished, and demoted to hospitals and museums, but in the short period since its independence, the nation has already begun to transform itself.

Alaverdi Monastery

As if that weren't enough of a trip, we also took a couple of days to drive south to Armenia, the land of my ancestors on my father's father's side. There we found another nation that has endured cruel and horrendous persecution, bordering on complete extermination, but that has emerged with a plucky and inspiring resolve to rebuild and transcend its own grief.

View from the Cascade Monument, Yerevan

From high in the capital of Yerevan, you can see the outline of Mount Ararat, the national symbol of the country where Noah landed thousands of years ago. (Their patriarchate in Etchmiadzin contains a staggering number of relics, including wood from the ark -- given to a monk by a pitying angel after the poor man had tried and failed three times to climb the mountain in search of the holy site.) It's also a good spot for a photo, if you can get one without too much windblown hair:

On our way out of the city, we received the gift of an early-morning snowstorm, meaning that by the time we reached the monastery on the banks of Lake Sevan, the roads were clear but the landscape was still a series of pristine, white undulations. In the chapel they were celebrating Divine Liturgy, and outside the world was holding its own celebration: "All the earth is Thy promised bride awaiting her spotless husband!"

The entire trip felt like one enormous gasp, and in the weeks since returning home we have been slowly exhaling, hoping that the exhaustion will wear off but leave the spirituality behind. Please know that we did remember you, our family and friends, in prayer in those holy places, just as we do here in the quiet and comfort of our home. 

Tissue Paper = Cat Velcro.

Snuggled up with a cat. As we are happiest.

We miss you, we love you and we hope to see you very soon!

Rob and Emily

Our Christmas Card: The Extended Version

The first couple of days of Christmas break are always wasted in a flurry of movie-watching, cookie-baking and snuggling with furry things on the couch (blankets, animals, unshaven husbands.) Suddenly, on Christmas eve, I realized we hadn't done Christmas cards. I half thought of scrapping it, since we'd been good about it for our first ten Christmases, but I realized what I said last year is still true: I like the whole process, the hassle of changing addresses and names and the fun of scribbling little notes by hand and the nice finished product at the end -- a pile of pretty stamped envelopes waiting to join our friends all over the country.

So, those are on their way to you, and meanwhile, for those of you who really want a play-by-play, here's what we've been up to this year:

First, we had a lot more work to do with our two new end-of-2011 projects: dog and kitchen. It took me a very, very long time to get used to having Mishka in the house, but I do enjoy her company, as well as the protection she offers me from burglars, the UPS man and umbrellas. (Bubble wrap, however, is a different story. If bubble wrap ever broke into the house, she would hide in the corner while it made off with all the valuables.)

View fullsize

Looking for things to sniff.

She also forces us to get outside more, which is definitely a good thing, as she has an endless capacity for running, sniffing and chasing. On one recent foray in the woods near our house, I enjoyed calling her back with a whistle: I would hear nothing, then a very faint rustle growing louder as she trampled through the fallen leaves coming toward me. The last time I called her back, however, the rustling grew louder and louder until I saw, with much alarm, half a dozen deer charge over the crest of the hill in front of me, on high alert with tails up. A hundred yards behind them was Mishka, having the time of her life.

View fullsize

Snow is like crack for dogs, apparently.

She loves the snow, but unfortunately, this little dusting was it for the year until this week. Thankfully, we got in a visit to our dear friends in Colorado and saw some real snow, along with real mountains, trees and blue skies (you think we have these things on the East Coast, but you're so wrong!)

Mountains, Gandalf!

Spring brought more raised beds and another attempt at filling them with our favorite heirloom varieties. Unfortunately, our summer traveling always interferes with the crucial work of watering and harvesting, but we still got quite a few tomatoes, beans, berries, carrots, beets and greens, plus all the fresh herbs we could handle!

White on White

Some pretty flowers, too, especially in the spring -- and yes, we still have the cat, and yes, she tolerates the dog who wants so badly to be friends with her.

Church is a constant source of peace and healing for us amid the stresses and trials of everyday life. I am grateful for my job as protopsalti, training and leading the other chanters; it keeps me connected to the community of Holy Cross, and to the Cross itself, eliminating the possibility of intruding busy-ness. We had a beautiful Lent, Holy Week and Pascha this year, including this lovely flower-covered bier with which we processed around the church on Holy Friday, commemorating the Lord's death and looking ahead to the promise of His Resurrection.

Bier in church?!

In the late spring, Rob and his dad, along with some friends, rode in Bike New York -- a a 42-mile ride that spanned all five boroughs and gave them some great views and an even greater workout. My mother-in-law and I happily tagged along for shopping, dining and a beautiful visit to the new Ground Zero park.

Giant waterfalls outline the footprints of the original Twin Towers, surrounded by a peaceful tree-lined arcade. The names of the fallen inspire personal tributes like this one.

Then we turned right around and went the opposite direction, to beautiful New Orleans for a weekend filled with sunny weather, beautiful music and way too much good food. We also enjoyed a visit to nearby St. Francisville to spend time with some dear friends who took us out for crawfish and stopped for cracklins on the way home (that comment about too much good food? I really meant it.)

New Orleans may be Party Central for most, but to me it's more a place of peace than anything else. The people we meet, the cocktails we toast with, and the streets we walk are all infused with a quiet, refined grace that trickles down into the days and weeks following our return. I couldn't ever get enough of the place.

Almost as soon as we returned from these trips, and as we were wrapping up the school year, I ended my 21-year academic career by walking the stage at Loyola University to receive a Master of Arts in Teaching along with a Secondary English teaching certification. In other words, after ten years of private instruction and seven in the classroom, I am finally, officially, a teacher.

At last!

As the school year ended, I signed a contract making the leap to full-time employment; I would have my own classroom for the first time, as well as increased administrative and supervisory duties. I was a little nervous about this, but Rob assured me it was not all that different from what I had already been doing as a part-time instructor. He's still full-time at the college level, teaching design courses to diverse classes that include both starry-eyed teenagers and professionals older than he is. One of the biggest perks of his job is that every other year or so, he gets to run a travel study program in Paris!

Monmartre at twilight: Ooh, la la.

Like any good husband (and he is the very best) he brings along his French-speaking wife so she can enjoy herself and help him out of Metro limbo when necessary. This year we ventured further south of the city on our days off, seeing some incredible chateaus in the Loire valley.

One of countless spectacular views!

(For more about our travels in Paris, I invite you to read my Top Ten series. Loyal readers (all four of you) will notice that not all of the ten pieces are published yet, but please enjoy what's there and I promise to finish soon!

Upon returning, we hosted a huge, fancy dinner in honor of Bastille Day, featuring five French courses paired with hand-selected American wines. The most prestigious Louisianan journalists all covered the story.

We spent time at the ocean as the summer ended, and also attended three beautiful weddings -- a longtime friend of mine in a three-part French-Indian extravaganza, a longtime friend of Rob's in a sweet homegrown ceremony on a farm, and a cousin's eclectic celebration in some local ruins:

School began again this fall, and with my increased class load, I made the difficult decision to stop teaching private piano lessons. My students were an important part of my life for nearly ten years, and it was hard to say goodbye, but I know they will be successful elsewhere: several have transferred to my mom's studio and are already making great progress. Meanwhile, I've enjoyed teaching a French class in addition to the English that makes up the bulk of my workload. I credit Rosetta Stone with my quick recall of vocabulary I learned when I was my students' age! 

We've made time for lots of fun weekend trips this semester, too: besides the weddings, we also took in a couple of concerts and enjoyed the stately beauty of Williamsburg with our family. And a friendship that began at the summer Sacred Music Institutes took me to Boston for two weekends in a row, to rehearse and record as part of Charlie Marge's Boston Byzantine Choir. I was so honored and humbled to be a part of the incredible musicianship and camaraderie of this group, and we enjoyed quality time with our Boston friends in my free time. They call this the "Hahbuh."

We were out of town so much this fall that I'm afraid I was a bad mother to this blog. I hope this New Year will bring some more stability, but I also have to blame social networks for some of that: although Facebook's time-sucking capabilities have kept me away so far, I have enjoyed the simple beauty of sharing photos via Instagram (in fact, many from this letter were originally published there; it's a nice backup in case, say, your hard drive crashes when your laptop falls off the couch and your last month or so of data is unrecoverable.) I've also enjoyed reviewing restaurants on Yelp, and as one of their Elite members I get to attend fun events around town. You can check out the content on the left-hand sidebars, and if you share either hobby, please look me up!

And now, having celebrated the glorious Nativity of Christ with a late-night festal Liturgy, and having feasted and clinked glasses and given gifts and sung and laughed, we prepare for an end-of-year gathering with family and friends to do more of the same -- and we wish you as much peace and joy as can fit into your hearts.

Merry Christmas from Baltimore!

Love, Emily and Rob

All Hallow's Eve

On my thirty-second Halloween, I thought a couple of weeks ago after reading this, I’ll finally have an appropriate response.

Growing up, many of the families in my conservative Evangelical circle did not celebrate Halloween at all.  They had “harvest parties” that, ironically, were probably more firmly rooted in paganism than the idea of a night when the demons gain a measure of independence from the power of the saints’ prayers.

Others, like mine, allowed trick-or-treating but shunned costumes that seemed to glorify death — no bloody-fanged vampires; hippies, cowboys, or even dice.  (This was my sister’s brainstorm: her head, with a black stocking cap, was the single dot.  As costumes go, it was pretty straightforward.)

Neither response seems exactly right, though.  How can you be a light to the world without marginalizing the traditions of our society (which, on the surface, have merit — on what other night will you spontaneously interact with so many neighborhood children?)

I like Steve’s idea because it allows people to participate in a lovely tradition without too much explanation or judgment.  I meant to borrow some supplies from the church yesterday, but amid the post-Liturgy chaos it slipped my mind.  So this afternoon I was a little grumpy until I remembered the jar of candles I keep in the icon corner, leftovers from special services like Pascha and memorials.  I liked the idea of these unknown children picking up where my prayers left off; what better way to connect with the people of my community?

I rustled around in the basement for a candle box, but after a little brainstorming, decided there really was no acceptable substitute for sand. (Topsoil? Pea gravel? Rock salt? All fall short for different reasons.)  So I headed over to Lowe’s to buy some — and lo and behold, found a half-empty bag that I could actually carry out.

It was a nice night, so I opened the windows and turned on The Rudder, a streaming radio station run by some friends in California.  It’s a wonderful variety of meditative and joyful Orthodox hymns from all different traditions, and I found that I enjoyed listening to it even in place of the silence I so treasure after a hectic day at school.  It was a little too cold to sit outside, so I settled for just inside the door, with my book and a slightly-alarmed cat (music and open windows are not standard operating procedure, and she knows this.)

Just after nightfall, they started to knock.  Following Steve’s lead, I offered each one a piece of candy and then asked, “Would you like to light a candle?”  Out of dozens of children, I only had one refusal all night — a shy adolescent who was alone.  The others were gleeful and full of questions.

“What is it?” some asked. “It’s like a prayer,” I responded, as simply as I could.  They understand prayer, I know.  In this mostly blue-collar neighborhood, black families are AME or Baptist; Latino means Catholic. The vast majority attend church; it’s the white families who don’t, and very few of those have children of trick-or-treating age.

Mostly, they were probably amazed that an adult was asking them to light something on fire.  Well, I’ll take what I can get.  Bigfoot removed her furry claws to grasp a beeswax taper, and Mario singed one of his white-gloved fingers.  A tiny bumblebee accepted my guiding hand over hers, and her mother was grateful: “That’s really nice,” she said.  “What a good idea.  That’s really something different.”  

They all said that, the adults: from the street, the steps, or — as is disturbingly more common — the car, which I suppose must be more efficient than searching for the next friendly house on foot.  “That’s different.”  That’s why it worked so well.

“Happy Halloween,” I said, over and over again, and behind me, a Russian deacon intoned his assent: “A-MIIIIIINNNNN!”

A Tale of Two Portraits: Part II

Welcome to the new Teacher | Children | Well!

This painting also came to me without my asking for it.  The story is much shorter and simpler, though: one day after a service, a gentleman from our church approached me and said he’d liked the image of me looking down at the music from the chanter’s stand at the front of the church.  Could he take some photos and create a portrait?

I was honored, but not surprised: I’m used to extraordinary and undeserved blessings pouring over me every time I open my mouth in the sanctuary. They began the moment I started learning to chant and haven’t stopped since, growing in fact more intense, almost unbearable, over the years.

Like so many profound experiences, this one had a prosaic beginning: I was lonely.  After two years at a soul-sucking school, during which I hardly had time for basic grooming, I was suddenly thrust into a normal working schedule. From nine to five I worked at a corporate job, and from five to nine I sat at home and wondered what to do with myself and my life.  I went out a little, with new friends and dates, but mostly I missed my old life, even the incredible stress that had at least kept me busy.

There was a deeper struggle, too, about faith (why had I been through that?) and vocation (what would happen next?) And both began to come together when my dearest friend agreed to teach me to chant.  I had heard the ethereal Byzantine melodies over and over, their haunting cadences and complex truths driving themselves right through me, and I wanted to be able to sing them too.

The strange thing is that, really, I didn’t have a nice voice before I learned to chant.  I could sing on key, thanks to my piano training, but it wasn’t beautiful.  I am sometimes shocked, even now, when I hear recordings of myself: who is that person? I wonder.  It is certainly not me; I could never do that.  And when I look at this portrait, I have a similar feeling – she is not me at all, but the person I wish I were, graceful, humble, consumed by infinite love.  I become her for fleeting snatches of time when I am wrapped in the beauty and power of an ancient hymn.  John caught her for a moment, but by the time I looked up, she was gone.

Only by forgetting ourselves can we ever become who we were created to be.  I find this in music, in art, and in this lowly space, where I plug away at the daunting task of expression because it is so intoxicating, every once in awhile, to have done it well.  Having just completed five hundred entries here, I wanted to celebrate with something new that would inspire me to continue creating; and in this portrait, I think I have found it.

Spell Choker

A couple of years ago, a student submitted a poem for publication in our school's literary magazine.  She had written it with misspellings, then allowed Spell Check to automatically choose replacements for her.  The result was one of the most brilliant satires in modern history: "How Spell Choker Ruined My High School Carrier."

My own Spell Check game is decidedly more toned-down, but it does provide endless amusement.  As I work on church bulletins, I enjoy seeing the program flail when faced with Orthodox proper nouns, usually Greek-rooted.  Here are some of my favorites. (Explanations follow for the Byzantine-challenged.)

1. Theotokos: Textbooks


2. Kathisma: Atheism (ouch) or Machismo


3. Hypakoe: Hyperbole


4. Paraklesis: Paralysis


5. Kontakion: Contagion

Okay, maybe it's just sacrilegious and not funny at all to imagine the bulletin naming the Contagion for the Feast, or asking someone to chant the Second Machismo in Tone 4.  I did say it was my own game!

1. Theotokos is the name given to Mary by the fifth-century Council of Ephesus, as a refutation of the heresy that Christ was not fully God while in her womb.


2. A Kathisma is one of twenty divisions of the Psalter; different Kathisma are read each day of the week.  For instance, on Sunday, we read Kathisma 2 and 3, which constitutes Psalms 9 through 23.  Kathisma sometimes also refer to the hymns that precede the reading of Psalms.


3. Commonly meaning "obedience," Hypakoe can also be translated as "hearing."  It's a hymn that celebrates some aspect of the Resurrection, corresponding with one of the eight musical tones.


4. Paraklesis means "intercession" or "supplication." Ironically, the Paraklesis is a service in which we pray for healing, both spiritual and physical.


5. A Kontakion is a type of hymn written for a specific feast or saint of the church year.  Its etymology is pretty fascinating: in ancient times, the hymns were written on very long scrolls and rolled around sticks for storage.  So Kontakion is a derivation of the word "kontos," meaning "oar."
   

FA392235-A412-2531-B21E-E85011855177

1.03.01

Advice from the Top

A blessed Feast of the Cross to all, especially my brothers and sisters from Holy Cross.

Last night, after roughly 3 hours of church and roughly half an hour of celebrating, I saw our beloved bishop sitting alone for a moment.  I am ashamed to admit that it has taken many years for me to be able to appreciate his annual visits.  He is a wonderful, godly man, with a sense of humor to boot, but from a church musician's perspective, the presence of a hierarch means an almost-certain upsetting of the delicate balance and routine on which we thrive.  We think of a bishop's visit as a sort of ascetic discipline.  You know, the way no one ever looks forward to Lent, but by its end they are glad for having struggled?  Like that.

Somehow I must have matured a little, because this year, I was pleased to find I was looking forward to his coming.  And I was able to field every pop fly he hit in my direction (a Jersey native, I think he would probably appreciate the baseball analogy.)  Greek?  Arabic?  Slow chanting?  Fast chanting?  Tone 1?  Tone 5?  Psh!

So, when I saw him sitting alone last night, I summoned my courage and approached, asking his blessing and seeking his insight.  I knew he had been a classroom teacher before entering the ministry, and I wondered if he could give me some advice about the profession that seems to have chosen me.

"Teach with love," he said first.  "That's all you can do.  If your kids know you love them and you love your subject, if they can see you're passionate about what you do, that's everything."

He shook his head.  "Teaching is hard, though."  Then he went on to tell me something amazing.  You remember that movie, Lean on Me?  Morgan Freeman plays "Crazy Joe" Clark, a tough principal who takes on an even tougher crowd of misfits and delinquents.  He gets them to succeed academically and vocationally, and he wins their respect with a combination of steely determination and self-sacrificing love.

The movie was based on a true story: Eastside High School in Paterson, New Jersey.  Yep.  My bishop was a teacher there.  Actually, he taught there before Joe Clark came and turned the school around -- when it was frighteningly underfunded and out of control.

"I'll tell you what: teaching is hard," he said again.  "The hardest thing I've ever done.  Harder than being a priest or a bishop.  Harder than working in a factory or owning your own business.  It's exhausting and it's thankless.  But you have to stay excited about it.  You have to know how important it is."

Thank you, Sayedna, for reminding me again of the magnitude of the task before me.  May I somehow find the strength to do it justice.

FA392235-A412-2531-B21E-E85011855177

1.03.01

Tonight's Top Stories

Our little church in Linthicum had a blaze of press coverage over the weekend.  This is unusual in a year when Western Easter and Eastern Pascha fell on the same Sunday, but we were happy for the publicity, which was very positive.

First, the Baltimore Sun's Anne Arundel County section featured a front-page shot of my husband, along with some other parishioners.  I was just to the left of the lens, in the choir.  (I was actually worried they might use one of the shots they took of me chanting -- my posture was terrible and I'm sure I would have caught some flack from my voice teacher about that!)

Both Rob and I are quoted extensively in the article.  I spoke for several hours with the reporter, both on the phone and in person after Vespers, and I think there was just too much information for him to put together a coherent narrative.  He also misspells my middle name (anyone who has gotten a personal e-mail from me knows that) and makes it sound like I'm a different person from Emily Lowe. But whaaaatever.  I'm happy to promote my church in any context.

Second, we got front-page billing (next to the giant headline about the slots) in the Maryland Gazette.  The online version doesn't show the photo, which is also great.  My husband's godfather is quoted in this one, but neither of us were there (it was the only Holy Week service I missed, actually -- trying to save my voice for the marathon weekend.)

That's all, unless you missed the TV spot last year, filmed on Lazarus Saturday; here's the post and the video.

It's so interesting, as a writer and an Orthodox Christian, to watch people try to make logical and journalistic sense of such a complex and mysterious faith.  The thing is, though I'm glad for the publicity and hope it drives seekers to investigate Orthodoxy, you just can't understand what we're all about by spending five minutes reading or watching a news blip.  Any issue worth debating can't be covered accurately and quickly, I suppose, but Orthodoxy is particularly visceral; a paragraph, photo or even video can't convey what the experience is like.  That's why the experience is one worth having.