Holy Rus; past; presence; 1600 years of St. John's prayers, remembered in the middle of america - an ochlophobic report.

Two formative memories. In the summer of 1992 I crossed Russia with an Evangelical missions group. We spent a week or more in seven different cities, each in a different time zone, crossing Russia from Moscow to Khabarovsk on the Trans-Siberian railway. I have written before of experiences there:

...I think it was in Krasnoyarsk that I had my experience. I went into the church as I had recently done two dozen or so times. I bought a few candles and lit them, as did many on my team. I tried to pray before an icon or two. After about twenty minutes our team was making its way back outside. I went round a corner and a particular icon of the Theotokos stood in front of me. It was quite large. I had seen many icons of the Theotokos during the trip at this point, but for an unknown reason this one struck me. It seemed to have sought me out. I cannot well describe the experience I had over the course of the next two to three minutes. It was not "mystical" in the popular sense of the word. There was not a sense of warmth or tenderness, thus it was quite different from what I thought was typical of religious experience. But that is not entirely true is it? Most of my religious experience was that of wondering whether or not God existed, and if He did, wondering if I was going to hell. But this experience was not one of warmth or anxiety. It was an experience of pain. That is all that I can say about it. After it was over I prayed, not having heard a Marian prayer in my entire life, "Mary, help me." I then walked out of the Church. There were some monks outside (actually they were just men in cassocks, but at the time I assumed that they were monks). I approached them and talked to them via one of our team's translators. I was filled with a sense of peace talking to them, and I was certain that my meeting them had something to do with what had just happened before the icon. I certainly was not in a notably holy state of life at that time... Despite my own sin, I came away from this experience with the distinct conviction that I was a marked man.

It would be the long part of a decade before I finally converted to Orthodoxy, though I would spend more Sundays in Orthodox churches during those waiting years than anywhere else, with plenty of sinning between each. For the bulk of the period during that time, I worked for an antiquarian theological bookseller. We would take a big moving truck full of books each year to the International Medieval Congress in Kalamazoo, MI, the largest academic conference of medieval studies in North America. One year, while selling books there, I had several conversations with some ROCOR clerics who were there to deliver papers. They tended to walk around as a group and the first time I saw them I recognized the image of those cassocked men I had seen in Russia. A couple of them were constantly moving thumb over wool (Tchotki) as they spoke, or, for that matter, as they did anything. These black robed men looked serious, some of them even stern. There were 5 or 6 of them as I remember, with long hair and beards. After returning home from Russia, I had sought to make some sense of what I had experienced. I went to the yellow pages (I was living in Suburban Detroit at the time) and after trying four or five Orthodox churches I got a nice lady who spoke English. I met with the priest there, and told him of my trip to Russia, apologized for having tried to Evangelize Russia (I felt guilty for it without knowing exactly why), but for whatever reason, could not articulate my deepest experience there. This priest was the first of several Fr. Johns I have been blessed to know in my life. He and his wife were gracious to me, and I attended a few Divine Liturgies at their suburban Antiochian parish, but as my father, who I lived with, was a pastor of a Baptist church across the parking lot from my home, I could pursue no further. For whatever reason, when I met these ROCOR priests at Kalamazoo I was able, for the first time, to attempt to articulate my experiences in Russia. Perhaps it was because they lived the same image as their (in my mind) Russian counterparts. A couple of them engaged me in conversation, I don't remember why, but I began to speak of my time in Russia, and in short order they were all gathered around me. I then also told them of my having attended various Orthodox churches in Michigan and Minnesota, and of my various intellectual hang-ups (it was in this conversation that I first realized that I suffered from a head divorced from its heart) and the fact that I had lived a life not much conducive to Orthodox Christianity. I was amazed that my many problems, which I had been shy to express, were met with kind smiles and nods. Among a number of things, they told me not to concern myself with jurisdictional consumerism (advice which I have thankfully followed to this day) and they told me that one day I would be Orthodox. They exuded kindness to me, and left me with their blessings. To my shame, I cannot remember the names of any of them. Perhaps they were angels. Whoever they were, they carried the same peace as the cassocked men in Russia, and for that peace I will forever remain thankful.

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This past weekend I was blessed to attend the St. John Chrysostom 1600th Anniversary Celebration held at St. John Chrysostom Russian Orthodox Church in House Springs, Missouri.

I am not a man who oft has high expectations, but in the weeks prior to this conference I had come to have high hopes that the weekend would be an important time. I am now relishing in amazement, as it is so rare in life that an experience is found to be far more rich and beautiful than anticipated.

Why, you ask, would our generally stoic Ochlophobist have had high expectations? Well, there were several reasons. Here was an opportunity to hear Fr. John Behr and Dr. David Bradshaw, both of whom have had a considerable influence on leading my mind to Orthodox paths of thinking. Then there was the opportunity to share time and space with Perry Robinson, who so greatly helped me to get over my arrogant problems with Palamism and come to embrace the Church's unequivocal teaching regarding ousia and energeiai, and who has become a dear friend. I found out that I would be able to ride up to St. Louis with fellow parishioners Billy and Christine who, I would come to learn, exude warmth, wit, humor, and faith - folks with whom I look forward to the sharing of continued friendship. And then there was the matter of my means with regard to the expenses - not only did Billy and Christine generously help, but as you, dear reader, probably know, I sold some books in order to pay for my registration. Shortly after doing so I received a large box of books from Fr. Christopher Stade, the pastor of St. John Chrysostom Russian Orthodox Church which hosted the Celebration, the priest who runs Chrysostom Press, and who has translated The Explanation of the New Testament by Blessed Theophylact, Archbishop of Ochrid and Bulgaria, which I will be reviewing in an upcoming post. I was overwhelmed with gratitude by the gift, and was thus very interested to meet Father and his parish. To all of these things, I must add the gratitude I felt upon finding, through my wife, that my brother-in-law from Wisconsin had expressed interest in attending. He had heard about the conference on AFR or some other Orthodox media outlet. He ended up being my roommate there. Any time I get to spend with Jason is dear to me, as he is one of the most kind, honest, decent, and amiable men I know, and he and I share very similar interests in music, craftsmanship (Jason is a woodworker of extraordinary skill, much to my benefit), theology, and, of course, we share a great love for his sister and the children she has born me. Jason is a very, very serious inquirer who has expressed his desire for the catechumanate (he must work some Sundays and lives over an hour from an Orthodox parish, complicating things which are complicated enough), and for being Sealed. He has also known one of the most brutal stripes this world cuts on the back of a person, which has only made him dearer to those of us who love him. Should you think of Jason, dear reader, say your prayer and light your candle on his behalf. It is for all these things that I had held my hopes.

After a pleasant ride northward, and collecting Jason at the hotel, we came to the grounds of the Church. It images the presence of God in a manner both Russian and American. The temple is beautiful. I gave my obligatory and happy prayer at the shrine of St. Nektarios to be found there, as promised to our local nun Mother Necktaria. The first service was a Moleben and Akathist to St John Chrysostom. There seemed to be about a score of priests, among them ROCOR, OCA, MP, Greek, and Antiochian, perhaps some from other jurisdictions, along with ROCOR Bishop PETER, and Metropolitan LAURUS of ROCOR.

At the end of the weekend, at the banquet on Sunday afternoon, I made the comment that those nations which had invaded Russia over the years clearly did not have leaders who had ever heard the singing at a Russian Orthodox church. The St. John of San Francisco Men’s Chorale was astoundingly good. The seriousness and intensity of the singing was as it should be, and with so many superb voices to go around between the choir, some phenomenally well voiced deacons, and the priests. The rejoices of the Akathist were sung with that reverberation of the pulse of grace that reminds one of the coming in of a sure and strong tide, well, if there were such a thing as a tide which becomes ever and ever full. What I am describing here is not, in any real sense, a performance. When one hears Rachmaninoff's vespers sung by a professional choir in America or Western Europe one hears something that, quite distinctly, sounds different from what one would have heard last weekend or at any Orthodox liturgy with a strong choir. When it is an Orthodox choir fully versed in the Church Slavonic choral tradition there is that constant coming in and out of voices, seemingly spontaneous division into complex parts, and a resonance, tonal depth, and gravitas which is simply never achieved in a performance setting. I have heard Russian choirs perform Church music in concert halls, but not with the fullness I heard last weekend. With one sung word in the Church Slavonic choral tradition one will find conveyed sorrow, near desperation, resolve, compunction, joy, peace, and ever more. There is no sound on this earth which greater recapitulates the human narrative. To hear this is to hear salvation, this is what the Kingdom of God sounds like, to hear it is to better know Him. Here, in this singing, the blind can see with their ears. Do not confuse this with aestheticism. What I am writing about is not a matter of taste, it is about the human soul and its proper givenness to God, those particular patterns of sound which facilitate the bringing about of such. Just as with Orthodox iconography we can recognize the saving written images of salvation, bound and gracefully held within the Tradition, outside of which is madness, so we might say that there are icons of sound, also bound and held within the Tradition. I rejoiced when I heard them.

The first lecture was that of Mitred Archpriest George Larin, who had been an altar boy of St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco. He set for himself a goal of reading the entire works of St. John Chrysostom while in seminary. We were told something the details of which I was ignorant - that while in English very little of St. John has been published (the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers set only has 6 volumes of Chrysostom; other volumes are to be found here and there), in the Russian edition of St. John's works there are over 20 volumes each with over 1,000 pages and having small print. Fr. George's lecture was basically comprised of the reading of long passages from St. John some of which he felt pertained to those difficulties ROCOR has experienced in its reunification with the MP. Here, in a room with, I would estimate, well over one hundred people, one at times could have heard a pin drop as long passages from St. John were being read.

The second lecture was that of Dr. David Ford of St. Tikhon's Seminary. Dr. Ford spoke concerning St. John's understanding of an Orthodox family life. I have to admit that I am not usually keen on "family life" talks. I normally find them to either rely on social science nonsense or to offer practical advice that doesn't really apply to my family life (how much and what type of TV children of various ages should be watching is not a concern in households without TVs, etc.) or to really be one of these theologies of the family sort of things that seems far too vague considering the MTV/pansexualist world we live in today. Fortunately, on matters concerning how to live one's life, Chrysostom is not vague, and neither is Dr. Ford. This was one of the best talks on the Orthodox family that I have heard. The talk focused on the proper order and devotion within the family balancing both rich theological points and useful practical advice. For instance, St. John wrote that every family have an alms box at home (Dr. Ford suggested the family place it near one's prayer corner). In this way children can contribute to the poor and see their parents doing so. The family can decide how the money gathered is to be distributed, etc. A very good idea which had never occurred to your Ochlophobist before. Dr. Ford spoke well of St. John's understanding of both hierarchy in the family as well as Christian egalitarianism in the family. The father, according to St. John, is the priest of the home and will be held accountable for the spiritual life of his family. But at the same time, the home is a little church, according to St. John, and thus each member is equally in Christ. The husband and wife are to each lay down their lives for the other, and the both of them for their children. If the husband and father is the leader of the home, it is because he is the first called to sacrifice himself for others. As with all of its other forms, Christian leadership is a call to martyrdom. Ye know that they which are accounted to rule over the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; and their great ones exercise authority upon them. But so shall it not be among you...

Dr. David Bradshaw spoke concerning Chrysostom on grace and free will. This is the first time I have been able to hear Dr. Bradshaw in person. Those of you familiar with his papers available online as well of his excellent book should be familiar with his approach to these sorts of issues. Perry and I talked before the lecture about Dr. Tighe's description of what seemed to be Dr. Bradshaw's role at the Augustine conference, and of our confidence in him as a serious scholar who is both irenic and fair (with no seeming axe to grind) but at the same time one who insists upon philosophical and theological differences between (what would become) the Latin and the Greek theological paradigms. This was only confirmed when Dr. Bradshaw mentioned Augustine in his lecture. Let's just say now that he made clear where St. John, the Greek fathers, and Orthodoxy stand vis-à-vis Augustinianian predestinarianism and the overall soteriological understanding of which it is a part. One of the things which impressed me most concerning Dr. Bradshaw's lecture was his succinct overview of some current philosophical understandings of the human will after which he concluded that much of Western theology is simply asking questions we should not be asking regarding the human will, and that certain strands of modern philosophy have agreed with the Orthodox inclination that the human will is too complex and mysterious a thing to be able to posit confidently with regard to exact points of culpability and decision and influences upon decision and so forth. The classic example of "I may to want to pray, or I may even want to want to pray" was given. Dr. Bradshaw spoke of the fact that various Western theologians have accused both St. John Chrysostom and St. John Cassian of Semipelagianism. Dr. Bradshaw pointed out that there are quotes from the vast corpus of Chrysostom that could be used out of context to support either side of the pelagian/augustinian debate, but he pointed out that it is inconceivable that St. John would have thought that anything could happen in the Christian life without the aid of grace. He implied (these are my words) that the whole pelagian/semi-pelagian problem is a problem that occurs in an intellectual arena with a misconstrued understanding of grace. Perhaps this has something to do with Western notions of created grace. Orthodox believe of the Holy Spirit (as we pray many times every day except during paschaltide) that "He is everywhere present and fillest all things." The uncreated grace of God is present everywhere for everything and everyone. It is always available for us to cooperate with. We could do nothing without it. We would not exist save for it. It is completely inconceivable to Orthodox, St. John among us, for there to be a state or condition which is unaided by grace. After Dr. Bradshaw's talk I was able to meet with him shortly and speak with him, thanking him for his help through some serious intellectual struggles in my past, and thanking him for the role he is increasingly coming to play in Orthodox intellectual circles. The praises of a poor Memphis coppersmith are certainly not the highest accolades an academic might receive in his career, far from them, but I tried to briefly convey that his words have been to me a great blessing, as I hope they have been to others who like me are not academic philosophers or theologians.

Speaking of words, Fr. Behr, following the emphasis of his own work, gave a lecture, "The Pastoral Power of Theology," which was largely concerned with the proper power of words as they are used by the fathers and in the Church. The talk was almost a Fr. Behr 101 lecture - he hit on all of his favorite themes and did so, in the estimation of your Ochlophobist, with great profundity. He spoke of the fact that the fathers, including Chrysostom, often dismissed pagan philosophers for their (empty) "eloquent rhetoric." But some of these same fathers, especially Chrysostom, dismissed such with their own (very much full) eloquent rhetoric. Chrysostom was considered by several pagan philosophers who were his contemporaries (not to mention a host of Christian thinkers) to be the greatest orator of his day. Fr. Behr then reflected on the power of words and their importance in the Tradition. He pointed out that while contemporary academic theology focuses upon a group they call the Cappodocians when considering 4th century patristics, St. Basil, St. Gregory of Nyssa, and St. Gregory Nazianzus, the Church focuses on a different list of three fourth century saints, the Three Holy Hierarchs, St. Basil the great, St. Gregory the Theologian (who is St. Gregory Nazianzus), and St. John Chrysostom. These men are the Three Great Ecumenical Doctors and their words are seen as, in three distinct ways, establishing the linguistic paradigms of Orthodoxy - the right use of words by Orthodox bishops and priests. They show us how to speak Orthodox. The clergyman cannot, must not, compel by physical force or coercion. He must use his words to call others to Christ. But, we might argue, what about the priest's actions - do these not call others to Christ? Well, Fr. Behr pointed out that in three years of ministry to His disciples and followers, despite so many actions and events that we now see as pregnant with meaning, only once before His Resurrection did anyone confess Him to be the Christ, the Son of the Living God, and that was Peter. Immediately after this Peter, not understanding the cruciform manner in which God reveals Himself to and saves man, tries to get Christ to veer away from Jerusalem thus revealing his own ignorance of who God is and how He saves. And Christ then calls Peter Satan. Fr. Behr reminded us that theology proper begins on the road to Emmaus, when Christ goes through the OT and theologizes to Saints Luke and Cleopas by showing them Christ in the OT texts - when He breaks bread with them, the whole of God's revelation to man comes together for them. Holy actions come to be understood through right words. Fr. Behr insisted that to do theology is to point to, to witness to Christ. He gave a very brief summary of the history of academic theology in the last 500 years (contrasting this to theology as practiced by the fathers) and discussed the splintering division of various theological disciplines, among them pastoral theology. I was quite pleased that he pointed out that contemporary pastoral theology almost always is nothing more than social science with token Christian language pasted to it. Fr. Behr said that helping folks with depression and addiction and marriage problems is important, and that there is a place (though he seemed to imply the place is limited as far as the Church is concerned) for the social sciences in dealing with human problems, but he made clear that anything calling itself theology must be about the explicit work of pointing out Christ, in the manner in which we have rightly learned to do this (following Fr. Behr's manifesto that Christ taught the apostles to read the OT, the apostles taught the fathers to read the OT and Christ, via the NT, the fathers teach the Church how to read the OT and NT, and the Church teaches us how to read the OT, NT, and the fathers through the means of her liturgies - and all of these readings share the same christocentric hermeneutic). The contemporary so called pastoral theologies, following the social sciences, too often follow a Christless anthropology. This is not to say that some persons do not need medications and professional help. It is to say that the priest's role in reaching out to such persons who are under their care must involve the explicit witness to Christ and His way of saving them, which will involve repentance and the undoing, through Christ, of their own self-destruction. And, of course, Fr. Behr did not pass up an opportunity to express his (and the Church's) cruciform take on all such matters. He pointed out that we are oft to forget that Christ tramples down death by death, that His means of victory is voluntary failure, that His means of winning is voluntary losing, that His means of offering wholeness is by voluntarily being crushed. We sometimes like to think that Christ has trampled down death by death, which is, of course, true. But the rest of the NT, the writings of the fathers, and the liturgies of the Church make it clear that Christ on the Cross established His, and our, modus operandi - the cruciform laying down of our lives in obedience to the Father. Fr. Behr at one point spoke of the recapitulation of human life with regard to human freedom and our cooperation with God. He said that in past times in his life he did not see what God was doing, or God's particular presence here or there, but now, looking back, he sees God's hand and direction saving and gracing him through these times, and, indeed, he could not be where he is today were it not for those times and spaces of the past. To understand the manner in which Christ saves us is to know that no matter where a person is, no matter what they have done or are doing, God is saving that person by means of that very time and space and state. They only need to cooperate with God for this saving balm of God's ever presence to appear in synergeia with the entirety of their lives. When God's saving of you becomes manifest, the entire you is saved, your history is the history of Israel, every past darkness bleeds His presence, every fall is lifted up as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness.

Fr. Behr is an extremely erudite man. He seems casually shy, and quite humble. There is a deep gentleness. His brother is a monk on Mt. Athos; I wonder if his brother is the English monk mentioned in Scott Cairns' book on pilgrimages to Athos (do you know, dear reader)? I had the opportunity to speak with Fr. Behr after his lecture, and was privileged to give him a ride to church on Sunday morning, in which we spoke of important things, such as cheese. I told him that my wife is the sort of person who will get red in the face talking about the evils of pasteurized cheese and he made it quite clear that he and my wife share the same cheese philosophy. We talked a little bit about south Wales, which we both love. He was interested to learn about the topography of southern Missouri and the general region. All in all, here we have a priest who seems to embody the theology he teaches, which is the theology of the fathers. I cannot think of a higher compliment.

The last lecture was written by Fr. Valentine Asmus, who was unable to attend, and read by a priest whose name escapes me. The lecture was on the deposition of St. John. The delivery of the lecture was done quite well so that, even though the paper was an academic paper, there was laughter at several points (especially during the reading of the charges brought against St. John at the Synod of the Oak with comments provided by Fr. Valentine and sometimes simply no comment at all, which was expressed in a humorous manner by the Fr. reading the paper). The lecture was poignant in its reminder concerning the banality of bureaucracies and the pettiness and cowardice that so often accompanies aggressive church politics. To think that those who exiled St. John thought that they had defeated him. Their names, on the rare occasion they are remembered, stand as icons of insignificance. St. John, short in stature, falsely maligned and banished, and driven further and further away from the centers of power, finally dying on the way to the hills of Georgia, where his body rests today, has a name which is praised and an image which is kissed by millions of persons across the world. We know that God remembers those who are led to die outside the gate.

After the lectures and some mingling with folks Perry, Jason, and I headed off for a beer. The conversation concerned a number of topics from possible reunion with Oriental Orthodox to modesty and pansexualist self destructiveness. Perry commented on how he liked the fact that at St. John's, the parish hosting the conference, the men and women stood on different sides of the sanctuary during services. He noted the feeling of camaraderie among the men at the service the night before. I agreed with him that the practice definitely lends itself to being able to better focus on the liturgy. It also, in my opinion, greatly aids in the sense of community among the worshippers. When men and women naturally separate in this fashion, it gives one several distinct impressions: 1) the worship is not about me and where I want to stand, 2) there is a community here that is about something bigger than me (and bigger than my family if I have one), 3) worship is an activity in which I play a role, and that role is not an autonomous or androgynous one, 4) worship reminds me that I am to submit to the Church's order, and not ask the Church to submit to my order. I have not been to an Orthodox parish that maintained this practice since I have had children, and my one concern about the practice since having children is that it would be difficult for families with children to split up. Having seen several young family in action during nearly 10 hours of worship last weekend, I think that it might actually work better for families to have the split of the sexes. Mothers and fathers handed off children as needed and the transitions were smooth and seemed to work to good effect. It was no problem at all, was not disruptive in the slightest, and in at least one case the child being given to his father was clearly taken as a sign that she needed to settle down. When a young toddler is handed off to be held by her father and be surrounded by adult men it can be an effective means of quieting the child down. I know that my daughters are much more free spirited in the company of adult women than in the company of adult men.

Following afternoon conversation we made our way back to the church for the hierarchical vigil service. Between the Men’s Chorale and the large number of clergy it was nearly overwhelming. Certainly the most beautiful vigil service I have experienced. During the Litany, while the deacon is praying the petition for Church leaders, when he mentions the hierarch present all of the clergy in the altar at that immediate point (while the deacon is finishing the petition) break into Gospodi pomilui with great strength, when the deacon finishes the petition, just as the clergy are finishing, the choir then sings Gospodi pomilui with great strength. I have seen this done before, but never with that many clergy and that strong of a choir. The appeals by clergy and choir were so strong that one felt knocked back by them. What I so appreciated about this was that it conveyed the seriousness of the Church's prayer, Lord, have mercy. There should be nothing casual about the prayer Lord, have mercy. The service was filled with joy and earnestness, and we were able to be blessed by the bishop with oil, in the name of St. John, during the Matins portion of the Vigil, as is customary with the Slavs.

After the service Jason and I grabbed dessert with Billy and Christine, and then headed back to the hotel. Jason and I went over to the bar area for a nightcap, only to find a number of the Men’s Chorale there. I went up to them to thank them for their excellent signing, and the next thing I know we were all toasting shots of Vodka to each other. They ranged in age from early 20s to early 50s, and the joyful conversation expressed such a breadth, in a pleasant manner. In the midst of conversation (seamlessly moving back and forth between Russian and English) on a variety of topics, they would break out into song, or sometimes one of them would sing a few lines to another saying what it is he liked about that particular setting. The very young man sitting next to me went from telling me how his not so pious plans with various young women had been thwarted by another young man in their company, and then a debate between he and another ensued concerning which girls they had met this trip were the most attractive, and then on to his description of how he broke down at the funeral of a clergyman because as he stood in front of the coffin in front of the altar, he was struck with the thought, "Christ is in our midst," and he was overwhelmed with a joyful sorrow. It occurred to me that this boy's mother might be worried about him, in the way that mothers rightfully are, but she must have gotten something really right. As it neared midnight we drank to each other's health, and went to bed.


After enjoying Fr. Behr's company on the way to church the next morning, we were able to take part in the Hierarchical Divine Liturgy, beginning with the vesting of Metropolitan LAURUS. I noticed several people weeping as the vesting took place, and I imagine that many others were fighting back tears. Here this man, who could barely stand without help, and who was ill, held his arms aloft as he was vested, the deacon reciting from Psalm 132 ...Gracious as balm poured on the head till it flows down on to the beard; balm that flowed down Aaron's beard, and reached the very skirts of his robe... After the vesting the Metropolitan took his place in the center of God's people, until it was time for him to enter the altar. He served the Liturgy, his voice trembling but at the same time sure. It seems that each service the Men’s Chorale sings is even more beautiful than the last. There was, for me, a sense of the recapitulation of my life as I was given communion from a ROCOR bishop, these years after those ROCOR priests had told me that I would become Orthodox. I was very grateful for the opportunity. After the Hierarchical Divine Liturgy there was a procession of the Cross around the church. It was a sunny, moderate September day with a pleasant breeze. The church is "out in the country" as we say, and in fact if I understand correctly the parish owns 20 acres with apartments on the property, with several parishioner families living in them. They have an excellent set of Russian bells, rung well as we made our way around the church. All of these things lend themselves to the sense that this place is where it is supposed to be, an increasingly uncommon phenomenon in American life. Even with the bells and loud singing, there was the right quietness.

The procession was followed by a banquet. There was wine, great food, and Russian folk dancing and singing. The parish did an excellent job pulling the whole affair together. More discussions with friends new and old as we all relaxed. There were people of various ethnicities who spoke various languages. I heard a man speak of his Russian father moving from Shanghai to San Francisco, thinking that he was going to be getting away from the Chinese. I spoke with a Canadian woman who converted to Orthodoxy from Orthodox Judaism, and kept her vow not to speak of her new religion to her children, in order to remain married. Her 21 year old eldest son is now an Orthodox Christian. I met a Russian-American who got a phone call from his parish in the Carolinas while he was studying in Moscow. The man on the other line quickly said, " We just bought a $142,000 piece of land for the new church. We only have $8,000. We close in three weeks. Tomorrow morning go to St______ Church at __________ and ask for Fr. ________. Tell him you need a Moleben to St. Xenia done immediately on behalf of the church." In two weeks, by St. Xenia's prayers, a blue collar parish in North Carolina came up with $134,000. They closed on the property a week later. I met former Presbyterians and current Lutherans. Taking all of this in, sitting next to Perry, who had described to me his Italian grandfather who never ate sliced bread in his life (for those of you who do not know, when you bake your own bread it does not come out of the oven sliced), and his wife, of all things a Cuban who grew up in a Cuban family that was devoutly Anglican, remnants of the very brief time that the UK ran Cuba; now Perry, his wife, and their beautiful girls are Greek Orthodox. I grew up a rural Baptist not so different, I imagine, than those who worship at the church down the road from St. John's - as I sat there reflecting on all of this I thought to myself - here is America. People from different nations, tongues, religious and nonreligious backgrounds sitting around a table in the middle of America, rich and poor, those with multiple graduate degrees and those without any degree, a Metropolitan who in his extraordinary lifetime has seen the unthinkable happen, the reunification of the churches of Holy Rus, all of us there, family, who share one Cup, and the presence of God with us, Christ in our midst. How often we hear that Orthodox is foreign, ethnic, navel gazing, and anti-Western. No. Orthodoxy offers the table in the wilderness, where those tossed about from every corner commune together. This table is at the heart of the vague myth of America; it is for Orthodoxy to take that vagueness and write over it a clear icon of salvation. Priests bless common things and they are made sacred. No matter where we are from, we are here to bless this place. It was good to be among the brethren in a place of blessing. Perhaps, as Fr. Tobias has written, America will someday begin.

I said my goodbyes to Jason, Perry, and friends, received my blessing from Fr. Christopher, and made my way into the heart of St. Louis to drop Billy and Christine off at the train station as they were headed to Chicago. I then made my way south, through yellow, then gold, then green fields, the sun setting over an earth still parched from the recent brutal draught, the golds illumined, the air was thick with light, full of an incense of color. I thought of my maternal fathers buried almost due east of me, and my paternal fathers buried almost due south. The smell of cut hay filled the car. I thought of the sun teasing the hills as it departed in Appalachia, and the gentle pink and purple dusks of the delta. I thought of the unborn child we lost almost due north of me, whose remains were incinerated in a sterile hospital, and my two girls, salt and light, who waited for me at home, their placentas buried, together, beneath the Pecan tree in my backyard. I thought of Jason heading for barley, and alfalfa, and soon enough winter wheat, while I headed towards cotton and rice. The last of the sun falls below a horizon which becomes more and more flat as I make my way south, leaving a shimmer of light in the passenger side window of the car. In the Name. Glory to Thee. O Heavenly King. Holy God. Glory. O Most Holy. Gospodi pomilui. Glory. Our Father.

God will save this place.

St. John Chrysostom, pray to God for us.