Epyllion

My Father’s Grandfather now sings from the grave;
I beg inspiration from your God to intone.

This seed seeks remembrance, the fruit of your tree;
That fell to the soil once sprouted, now grown.

North of Angel City, to the land of the hells;
A willing servant by spirit-wind blown.

Speaking for the broken, beaten in dry lands;
A man stood condemned for what he condoned.

Find a wife, add a daughter, and a son; this seed;
Such great fruit summoned the tree that had sown.

While still a bud, he learned words of power;
Calling forth fish by command from sea-foam.

But the calling had grasped him at his core;
Their divine energy animated his bones.

First in sight of the sea and scrubbed hills;
Then in the great valley he spoke under their domes.

Wife called the blind, saw to his two children;
Loved safe in the castle he carved from the stone.

Kept his good house and looked out for his needs;
So in the stead of the damned he might stand alone.

At him empty men spoke spears of cold fire;
Made outlaw unjustly, homeless he roamed.

“I have come not to seek myself but my brothers;
Grace give to the dead, to the living unknown.”

He said, “Fear not, those weak from this hunger;
For together our feasting and singing atone.”

Famine, envy and spite burst forth to do battle;
Thus knowing his fate, the scars he bid welcome.

By heaven’s good gift, each barb turned a blessing;
A lifetime of cuts carved an old face winsome.

He saw the invisible, heard the voice of the mute;
With each hand clasped made friend the lonesome.

Now this seed speaks the last truth you have given;
And repay the debt by writing this tome.

Father sang Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty;
Ever ringing out, long after God took him home.

Radiance of the Father

By the light which shone upon mount Tabor
That those yet in darkness lost could be found
Of your own will but in obedience
–to the Father; you suffered, crucified

Show us that happy way, that graceful light
Brothers let us attract God without guile

Your glory still enlightens your disciples
–as far as we can bear that vision
We have learned to cast out our sinful eyes
And better blind in the kingdom, we see

For the greatest of the least little child
With a curse to them that keep him from you
That great weight as you bore voluntary
Should be a chain firm ’round their cruel necks

Show us the golden way now uncovered
It is easy for the lowly of heart

We will then become as children so that
We might sit in the midst of all the saints
Even in front of him who is the Christ
The very Radiance of the Father

Beware Modernity

Wade the shore of Phlegethon, soul cold beyond fear
Starved gaunt of self-knowledge by dream’s malnutrition
Reality’s freedom exchanged for hunger’s fantasy

Narcissus detects no regret reflected in empty eyes
A will so enfeebled that it cannot pierce its heart
He’ll depart this life alone without friend or foe

Depleted storehouses stand as echos of Esau’s folly
The land falls into ruin with the gardener’s death
His dry bones feed no soil but poison the stream

A vital capital pumped through his empty carcass
Drawn by harlot organs absent of soul’s restraint
The wealth of nature exhausted by the logic of profit

Had he escaped this blue pearl the stars would dim
All the sky would flicker and in time’s measure fade
An effort that heaven’s golden horde cannot satisfy

Woe prisoners of Dis with eyes that chew young sisters
Betrayers of a noble virtue the wretched inhospitable
Death has come already to the host that eats his guests

Death, for him, becomes life because he has no other
His will to live deserts him and his passions flow
An addiction worse than death bites as he consumes himself

Obedience

Make no mistake, the way out of this mess is obedience.

Everything else is the gyrations of a collective cultural epileptic fit. These manic outbursts have nothing to do with being human, or in fact much of anything. It is anti-culture and nothing or no one has ever had to deal with such a beast before.

I hear the words of some who say (with that “nothing is new under the son” tone of voice) that the Roman empire as a first cosmopolitan sociological laboratory was similar, but it wasn’t. Nothing like what we are going through right now has ever happened, nothing remotely like it.

We no longer live in communities, we no longer live together at all. For the first time in human history, more adults will go to bed alone tonight than go with a spouse. More children are raised in fractured (and soon even single) homes than stable ones, forget having extended “clan” relations around.

We have begun to play with the fundamental categories of human nature, not by some accident of the fall, but by intent. We are in a feedback loop of distorted self caused by the nascent ascendancy of man over his own nature.

We’re wrestling about talking about whether or not Church life fits into this mess, but that’s the rhetorical equivalent of putting the cart before the horse. What does life look like at all, when life can look like anything? I didn’t come to Orthodoxy for protection from post-modernism. (I’d rather have post-modernism than modernism any day of the week as at least the post-modernist knows he’s ill, he’s just in despair about it–which is exactly half the delusion the modernist suffers from.)

Back to the beginning. Obedience. This is what it looks like. How can we obey (or understand what healthy obedience looks like) when we don’t even demand our children respect adults by calling them Mr. and Mrs. How do I genuinely use the term “Master” or “His Grace”, if I call my own mother “Sheila”?

But obedience is it. It is the answer. The only way to recover this is to do what Christ did. Empty ourselves of our demigodhood, and do not count ourselves as equals. Obey, not as slaves, but perhaps at least as well as we listen to our new clergy in the medical profession (faith follows function). Obey as our parents obeyed their grandparents. Obey as they obey us. This isn’t subservience, this is, this must flower in mutual love.

This is a mutual obedience, formed by real bonds that really suffers for one another and really ruins a whole family when one member throws the common life into a fit.

It does not matter whether the tones are Byz or SATB in the key of F. Our priests wear what they wear at the altar because if they didn’t they’d be naked, and they might as well wear just about what the guy they remember doing it wore.

Is Orthodoxy in America troubled beyond Owen-ian repair? Of course not. There is no way up, but through. Admit the EOC and a dozen like them, the chips will fall as they may. In 200 years all of this will be summed in a few pages on some history book. It will say, “there was a time when…” and later, “but then there was this and that development…” and then finally, “so now we are past that but have to deal with these new problems.”

And life will go on, as will the Church until the Eschaton.

Again I say, if we are cursed with a freer will (or as I understand it, a never more dangerously enslaved will) let us use that freedom to lay down our slavery and bury our dead bodies in obedience to one another.

Even if it hurts. Especially when others do not return the “enlightened” gesture. Evermore until in the flesh we die.