Orthodixie

My pal, and son’s Godfather, Priest John Whiteford, now has a B-L-O-G.

He also has a handy typicon resource for Readers, et al.

Reader boards, like Baptist Churches, are to be found all over the South. Though I thought the saying was passe, there it was this morning at a used car lot:

“Jesus is the Reason for the Season.”

I hadn’t gone two miles till a contrary message appeared at a church:

“Jesus is the Gift, YOU are the Reason.”

Ah, yes … Glory to God in the highest!

“I behold a new and wondrous mystery!

My ears resound to the shepherd’s song, piping no soft melody, but loudly chanting a heavenly hymn!

The angels sing!

The archangels blend their voices in harmony!

The cherubim resound their joyful praise!

The Seraphim exalt His glory!

All join to praise this holy feast, beholding the Godhead herein… on earth and man in heaven. He who is above now, for our salvation, dwells here below; and we, who were lowly, are exalted by divine mercy!

Today Bethlehem resembles heaven, hearing from the stars the singing of angelic voices and, in place of the sun, witnessing the rising of the Sun of Justice!

Ask not how this is accomplished, for where God wills, the order of nature is overturned. For He willed He had the powers He descended. He saved. All things move in obedience to God.

Today He Who Is, is born ! And He Who Is becomes what He was not! For when He was God, He became man-while not relinquishing the Godhead that is His… And so the kings have come, and they have seen the heavenly King that has come upon the earth, not bringing with Him angels, nor archangels, nor thrones, nor dominions, nor powers, nor principalities, but, treading a new and solitary path, He has come forth from a spotless womb.

Yet He has not forsaken His angels, nor left them deprived of His care, nor because of His incarnation has He ceased being God. And behold kings have come, that they might serve the Leader of the Hosts of Heaven; Women, that they might adore Him Who was born of a woman so that He might change the pains of childbirth into joy; Virgins, to the Son of the Virgin…

Infants, that they may adore Him who became a little child, so that out of the mouths of infants He might perfect praise; Children, to the Child who raised up martyrs through the rage of Herod; Men, to Him who became man that He might heal the miseries of His servants;

Shepherds, to the Good Shepherd who was laid down His life for His sheep;

Priests, to Him who has become a High Priest according to the order of Melchizedek;

Servants, to Him who took upon Himself the form of a servant, that He might bless our stewardship with the reward of freedom (Philippians 2:7);

Fishermen, to the Fisher of humanity;

Publicans, to Him who from among them named a chosen evangelist;

Sinful women, to Him who exposed His feet to the tears of the repentant woman;

And that I may embrace them all together, all sinners have come, that they may look upon the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world! Since, therefore, all rejoice, I too desire to rejoice! I too wish to share the choral dance, to celebrate the festival! But I take my part, not plucking the harp nor with the music of the pipes nor holding a torch, but holding in my arms the cradle of Christ!

For this is all my hope!

This is my life!

This is my salvation!

This is my pipe, my harp!

And bearing it I come, and having from its power received the gift of speech, I too, with the angels and shepherds, sing:

“Glory to God in the Highest! and on earth peace to men of good will!”

Christ is Born! Glorify Him!

Thanks for FWD from Fr Miguel Grave de Peralta.

Okay. I’m a hypocrite. At least, given what I’m about to say, some might accuse me of such. Those who know me know I ain’t much on Halloween. I never was much on Halloween, even as a kid. It seemed a bit odd to me that perfectly normal devil-hating church folks would go all out, once a year, to root for the other side. But, that’s just me.

Then, I’m hip on Santa.

You see, I SAW Santa. Really, I did! Back when I was young. This is one of those impossible memories. Here’s the way my mind — you know, the REAL mind where anything’s possible — tells it …

I was asleep on the couch, having dozed off out in the den on Christmas Eve. The only “vision” I have is of his back — red outfit, white trim — as he passed by my sleeping self. The most unbelievable part of the memory is: I went back to sleep.

Why is this impossible? Well, I never fell asleep on the couch, staying through the night, on Christmas Eve. I mean, what? I wake up and there are all the presents (before the time)? My parents would actually leave me there? On Christmas Eve?

Notice the proofs given do not include: Santa don’t exist. Nope.

I know, I know. I’m an Orthodox priest and there’s others of my stripe — even my pal, Frederica (note shameless name drop) — who hold a contrary view of the man. But try as I might, I can’t … I won’t, I say! … let go.

I still have a visceral reaction when I see a “good Santa” — you know, the ones with a real beard, real gut, real red cheeks, real joy. You know, real. I can’t help it. It gives me hope. I become a kid again. The kid with memories that, I guess, can’t be proved. You know, real memories.

I did go through a period, don’t we all, where I tried to be anti-Santa. Then God allowed me to start a Mission named St Nicholas. Well, dang. Ain’t that the way? I ended up giving in. I’ve repented. But even during that rebellion, if ever I saw a “good one,” I knew — hypocrite or no — I knew!

Back when I started this Christmas series, I had no idea where it would wind up. If, for some odd reason, you’ve read all these ramblings, you’ve probably wondered where it was all heading as well. Fair enough. So here’s the deal …

I hate the shopping. I hate the frivolous debt. I hate supporting Communist China. I hate the extended commercial season. I hate the styles, the driving, the lack of sleep, the over nourishment.

But I cannot help but be touched by the magic. Somewhere along the line, every year, it touches me. No, no, no. I don’t mean Santa magic. He’s just an image of it. No. I mean the magic that makes steeples look brighter, loved ones look lovelier, hearts seem bigger, and homes seem warmer. I mean the magic that makes the impossible possible.

At this point, even I am wondering … okay, ain’t it time you said something about Jesus?

Well, I don’t know how to say this without sounding hokey but, forgive me … here goes … to my mind at least, I just did.

The original post in the series asked: Does Christmas need a second baptism?

My answer is “Yes.” Annually. In the Church, Confession is viewed as a “second baptism.” Every year we are brought face to face with a wonderful mystery: God became Man. As a Patriarch once said, “[Christmas] … the day when God bent down and kissed the earth.” And somewhere along the line, in the midst of the madness of the season, we are confronted with another question: What am I to do about it? May we, like Our Lady, the Shepherds, the Maji, and all the Saints before us answer the question. Our answer, our conviction — our confession — is a prerequisite for our worship.

Venite, adoramus Dominum!

Here’s hoping that you and yours all become like kids again — and soon.

By anticipation: Christ is Born! Glorify Him!

(Merry Christmas!)

Pope Shenouda III, the top Coptic cleric, has withdrawn to a desert monastery to draw attention to grievances among Egyptian Christians.

I’ve heard of antagonists in the church, but this one takes the cake.

An overdue welcome to the Blogosphere to a fellow worker in the Southern vineyard.

Our parish’s catechumen has also launched.

Ah … Planned Parenthood. God help us. Here’s their “Christmas Card.”

Did you know that St Athanasius’s classic, On the Incarnation, with preface by CSL, is now online?

I’ve only been Christmas shopping once, that would be yesterday, but I noticed that everyone — Everyone — in the shops wished me a “Merry Christmas.” Seems that the “C-word” is making a comeback.

Finally, a must read — a wonderful memory of Christmas — by (Huw) Raphael.