I have been a fan of America’s Got Talent since its inception. It is a very entertaining show. There have been some incredible bombs on that show. I end up wondering why people insist that they are talented when clearly this is not the case. I really believe that we just think too much of ourselves. However, I am not descending into some Calvinist pit of utter despair or any other heterodox belief! There have been some truly incredibly talented performers on that show. I think that Terry Fator shines among all the finalists and winners.
However…
A good friend of mine sent me the following YouTube video of Ukraine’s Got Talent. Two young children doing an incredible ballet/acrobatic act. Makes one wonder if all those video games are doing are youth any good. Enjoy the show! And don’t forget to give thanks to God for such talent and beauty!
I just came back from a wonderful evening with my friends, Roman and Stephanie (and their little one yet to be born in this world). After some shopping for fresh fish (it is, afterall, the time of the Apostles’ Fast), Stephanie home safely from work, and a short dram of McClelland’s Single Malt Islay (way to go, Roman!) with baguettes, brie and a cranberry/orange sauce on the side, a lovely pepper and lime blackened salmon was served with potatoes and a homemade coleslaw (mmm! Stephanie knows how to cook!). Our conversation varied from history of the UGCC, to foolish car accidents (or bumper-shmumpers as we called them back in the day), to stories of siblings growing up and on and on.
It was in the midst of this deep discourse that we uncovered the foundation of crustless PB & J sandwiches. Seems that at the beginning, PB & J sandwiches were always made with bread that had crusts. Every mother would want this for her child as there would be no waste whatsoever. The first crustless PB & J sandwich was not made by a woman, however. It was made by a man – a Byzantine priest, in fact. You see, it was after a morning Divine Liturgy that Pani Dobrodivka had to run some errands and left the care o fthe children to her husband, the parish priest of the local church. The children, after a good playful romp in the fields nearby, came running into the house asking for a snack. Not knowing much about things culinary, the priest finds the loaf of bread and makes the children PB & J sandwiches. However, custom got the better of him and he began immediately after to cut away the crusts as he does every morning at the Divine Liturgy with the prosphora loaf. He of course realized this afterwards, shrugged his shoulders and gave the children their very first crustless PB & J sandwiches. It was an instant hit.
At the Divine Liturgy, the cut off crusts are given as the antidoron to the faithful at the end of the Liturgy. In the kitchen, the cut-away crusts were given to the birds – the antidoron for God’s creatures.
With thanks to orrologion:
The Athonite monk was walking along and was greeted by a young Greek man who loudly demanded, “Give me one reason to believe in God!” The opportunity was golden, according to many. The Athonite was silent for a moment, then calmly answered, “No,” and continued on his way.
-Source Unknown
Jean Kim-Butcher, a wonderful woman, mother of six, and and wife to Brian (he and I were graduate students at MASI some years back), contributes regularly to Canadian Christianity, an online Christian news and ministry magazine. In Jean’s most recent article, she writes about the benefit of participation in the life of the Church especially for families. You can read the entire article here.
I do want to emphasize one particular section of her article, though – see below. I think it shows a certain mature perspective of the Church. Read it over a few times. What do you think?
Our attendance at church is an act of humility, in that we thereby profess our need to learn and be supported. Indeed, to be relational is to image forth the very life of the Holy Trinity. Ought we not to view church as an artist’s studio rather than a museum? It’s a place where the raw materials of who we are become moulded into works in progress, rather than one where finished products are presented for admiration. For then the church environment can be one of acceptance – one where all feel safe to come.
The following is from the Monastery at Chevetogne in Belgium. It is a Benedictine Monastery and fully Catholic. It celebrates both as and Eastern and Western Churches. The two deacons in the video from Great and Holy Friday are from Montreal and Chicago.
Troparion of the Veneration of the Epitaphios:
Come and let us bless Joseph of everlasting memory, who came to Pilate by night and begged for the Life of all: ‘Give me this stranger, who has no place to lay His head. Give me this stranger, whom His evil disciple delivered to death. Give me this stranger, whom His Mother saw hanging on the Cross, and with a mother’s sorrow she cried weeping: “Woe is me, my Child! Woe is me, Light of mine eyes and beloved fruit of my womb! For what Simeon foretold in the temple is come to pass today: a sword pierce my heart, but do Thou change my grief to gladness by Thy Ressurrection.” ‘
We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ.
We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ.
We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ, and Thy Holy Resurrection.
I went to visit my Baba today (for those of my friends unfamiliar with the Ukrainian language, Baba means Grandmother). She is 93 years old – turning 94 next month. I swear – she doesn’t look day over 85! Every time I tell her that she just giggles like a little girl, touches my hand and then gives me a look that only Baba can give – Michael, you should know better!
Baba’s voice and her manner of speaking have changed since I last saw her in November 2008 – I came home to Ottawa to anoint her as her health was failing. She bounced back. But these recent changes have revealed how much she has aged in the last little while. She puts on the image of being strong – all so that we will not think of her age.
She revels in the fact that she is now the matriarch of the family – and she blesses each of us with the sign of the Cross when we depart (she is a good and noble sovereign). She is a woman of prayer – my mother, her only surviving child, calls her a prayer warrior. Some of the staff at the nursing home ask why Baba has lived so long. Answers such as daily vitamins, keeping the window open at night for a little fresh air, taking a nap or two a day, etc. are readily available for consideration. But I have to agree with my own mom – Baba is a woman of prayer – one woman that the Lord in His infinite wisdom has decided to keep around. Who knows for whom she prays – that is known only to our Lord and Baba’s own heart. I am humbled and grateful that I am included in those prayers.
This photo above was taken today – June 5, 2009 – a mere 34 days before her 94th birthday!
My surprise was understandable when the Archbishop asked me to take up the ministry of Rector of Holy Spirit Seminary in Ottawa – I almost fell off my chair. When I announced it to the parish on Palm Sunday, there was a moment of stunned silence, and then some audible gasps. I wanted to gasp as well as I was expecting to be at Holy Eucharist Parish for another six years. Eight weeks have passed and I have packed up all my belongings (man, did I collect a lot in 16 years!) – and shipped it all to Ottawa.
I finished almost all my business in Winnipeg by last Tuesday and left for Ottawa by car. It was a wonderful three day trip. The hardest part was today – from Sault Ste. Marie to Ottawa. The roads after Sudbury are pretty rough and passing lane occurrences are far less. My favourite part of the trip was yesterday – just to the west of Sault Ste. Marie there is a place called Old Woman Bay on Lake Superior. I stopped there four years ago with my parents for a lunch. Yesterday, the only living being was a chipmunk in search of some sweet somethings in a recycle container with almost full bottles of Coke, Gatorade, etc. He didn’t want to eat any of the dried cranberries that I sent his way. The wind was generous – and the temperature cool. I just stood looking out at the lake – reminded of the wonderful psalm we sing everyday at Vespers – how great are Your works, O Lord!
For now, I will stay with my parents for a week – try to start getting some papers changed over to Ontario standards, etc.
My next five years will be in Ottawa – my home town. Talk about “back to the future.”
Incredible as it sounds, it is absolutely true. Fr. Stephen Hrynuck of Olyphant, Pennsylvania retired after 50 years as pastor of Sts. Cyril and Methodius Ukrainian Catholic Church.
Orphaned at an early age, the Ukrainian Catholic Eparchy of Philadelphia reports, Msgr. Hrynuck was left in the custody of an uncle who dreamed of the boy studying at Temple University and becoming a doctor. However, a friend of Msgr. Hrynuck’s parents instead convinced him to meet with the bishop of Philadelphia and tell him of his desire to become a priest.
Yesterday, on the Sunday after Theophany, on the feast of Theodosius the founder of coenobitic monasticism, my good friend and prayer partner, Mary Koltek, reposed in the Lord.
I met Mary when I was pastor at Holy Family Parish in Winnipeg. She and her husband, Bill, were faithful members of the congregation. Bill, a retired pharmacist, had already lived a few years with Alzheimer’s disease, and Mary, also retired the day Bill closed shop, was his primary caregiver. Oh, how she loved Bill. I remember being invited up to their family cottage on the east side of Lake Winnipeg for a “day of rest.” It was Mary’s way to ensure that I got pampered and that she did the pampering. After the bountiful lunch, I retired to the sun room to read, and perhaps take a short nap. Bill entered the room, sat down for a few minutes, mumbled a few words, and then jaunted over and showed me that he had three more cigarettes for the day. (Bill was a smoker and Mary was his cigarette custodian.) Mary overheard and chased him out. He smiled at me without her seeing it, and then she smiled at me without letting him see it. The love and joy she shared with Bill, even in those difficult years at the end of his life, was like a fountain overflowing its edges – and the water was sweet. Even after Bill’s passing, Mary had me visit her at the family cottage until she was no longer able to drive herself. Oh how we laughed telling each other stories, and sharing in a home cooked meal.
Mary and I became prayer partners after she had some trouble with her heart some years back. She was in the hospital, I came to pray and anoint her. We have remained partners to that day. She always told me that she was able to live all those years because of my prayers. I kept telling her that it was the wisdom and ability of the doctors and the Lord’s mercy enacted through them that allowed her to live these “extra years” as she called them. I recall one visit to her apartment for an afternoon tea (which usually involved an entire full course meal with a bottle of wine) and reminded her of the above. She just smiled, shook her head, and poured some more wine. To tell you the truth, I have prayed for Mary every single day of my life since that day in the hospital when I anointed her. There was some sort of spiritual connection with her that I truly believed the Lord established – a type of spiritual brother-sister relationship even though Mary was old enough to be my grandmother. Mary prayed for me every day as well. Truly, if not for her prayers, I do not know where I would be.
Mary had a wisdom that exceeded her years. She shared it freely. Always a gift. I shall treasure all the nuggets that she gave.
When I was in Ottawa for some graduate studies, I sent her a postcard of one of my most favourite oil paintings, Sunrise on the Saguenay (1880, Lucius O’Brien) – see the photo above – that hangs at the National Gallery. Imagine my surprise when I returned home to Winnipeg and was presented with her own oil painting of that very same postcard. In the original there is an almost ethereal feeling as the morning mist, still hovering over the water, begins to be burned off by the rising sun. The colours of the sky and the background are pale, while the foreground is crisp, clear and vibrant. In Mary’s version, the sky is filled with much colourful vibrancy, almost a foreshadowing of her expectation of Paradise. Her painting now hangs in my living room. It was Mary’s last oil painting.
Proud Mary – in the most profoundly good way. Mary often boasted of her children and grandchildren, their accomplishments, their graduations, marriages, births. There was a shining light in her eyes as she told stories of her family to me – again, that overflowing fountain of love.
Mary was an elegant woman with mystifying simplicity. I suppose it was about last Pascha when I felt that I had finally “caught the wave” she was riding. In her longing to love and serve her family, friends, church and state, she sought first her true love. No, Bill was her second love. In her years of prayer on her knees beseeching the Lord – Who is Love – for His grace to be upon those whom she loved, she had somehow come into His presence in such a profound manner that she was simply filled by Him. Perhaps she knew this, perhaps she did not. But I convinced by her example and word that prayer is the answer – to all.
Some may think that Mary was of the world. She may have been at some point in her life. But I can tell you that her last years with us, she had left the world, simply in it, and prayed for it. Just like Theodosius.
In blessed sleep grant eternal rest, O Lord, to Your ever-to-be-remembered servant, Mary, and make her memory everlasting. Вічная пам’ять.
Христос Раждається! Славіте Його!
Christ is born! Glorify Him!
Lots of time these past few days to reflect on the Mystery of our Lord’s Incarnation and first Manifestation to the world. A few years ago, the parish I serve (Holy Eucharist, Winnipeg) had a fine man assigned as a pastoral intern – Xenios Marckx. He introduced me to the writings of St Ephrem (Ephraim) the Syrian. St Ephrem has a way of writing that allows the reader/pray-er to simply jump into the pool of the Mystery of Salvation. I am always in awe after even a few minutes of reading/praying. Here is a small piece of his work on the Mystery of the Nativity of our Lord:
Glory to Your coming that restored humankind to life.
Glory to that One Who came to us by His First-born.
Glory to that Silent One Who spoke by means of His Voice.
Glory to that Sublime One Who was seen by means of His Voice.
Glory to that Sublime One Who was seen by means of His Dawn.
Glory to the Spiritual One Who was well-pleased
that His Child should become a body so that through Him His power might be felt
and the bodies of His kindred might live again.
Glory to that Hidden One Whose Child was revealed.
Glory to that Living One Whose Son became a mortal.
Glory to that Great One Whose Son descended and became small.
Glory to that Great One Who fashioned Him,
the Image of His greatness and Form for His hiddenness.
With the eye and the mind–with both of them we saw Him.
Glory to that Hidden One Who even to the mind
is utterly imperceptible to those who investigate Him.
But by His grace through His humanity
a nature never before fathomed is now perceived.
St. Ephrem the Syrian (4th C), “Hymns On the Nativity”
Ephrem the Syrian, Hymns, pages 83-84
Classics of Western Spirituality
Paulist Press
