ORTHODIXIE ... Southern, Orthodox, Convert, Etc.

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There are sceptical thoughts, which seem for a moment to uproot the firmest faith; there are blasphemous thoughts which dart unbidden into the most reverent souls; there are unholy thoughts, which torture with their hateful presence the fancy that would fain be pure. Against all these some real mental work is a most helpful ally. That "unclean spirit" of the parable, who brought back with him seven others more wicked that himself, only did so because he found the chamber "swept and garnished," and its owner sitting with folded hands: had he found it all alive with the "busy hum" of active work, there would have been scant welcome for him and his seven!

-- Deacon Charles Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll), taken from Lewis Carroll - A Biography.

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Click the above link. (Make sure you've got your sound turned up!)

Be very afraid.

Any questions?

Comment below.

Oh, and, Happy Feast.
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Until I saw these two pics I thought maybe Fr John Whiteford was pulling our leg about being in the Official Delegation over in Russia.

Here's proof. (He's the tall one with the beard -- under the light, and in front of the column.)

UPDATE: David Stone provides a wonderful picture -- Fr John, shall we say, has the cooler head ...



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S'prazdnikom!
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Okay, so here's where I always get labeled a kook by those who are really really big time smart, but ...

Astronomers have used a unique process to determine that a star in our galaxy is nearly as old as the universe itself.

Pray tell, how old is the universe?

The star is 13.2 billion years old, while the universe dates back 13.7 billion years, according to the European Organisation for Astronomical Research in the Southern Hemisphere (ESO).

Which brings up the question, at least in my mind: What preceded the universe?

The organisation said "this star very clearly formed very early in the life of our own galaxy," which is believed to itself have formed soon after the Big Bang.

Ah, yes. Which begs the question: "If a universe is born of a big ol' bang, and there's no one there to hear it, does it make any noise?"

The story.

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We believe in one God, the main God of a number of Gods(1), who acquired His place as Supreme Being over a long period of time by living a righteous life(2), the Father Almighty, Maker one of the Makers (3) of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible (and Who is married, by the way) (4);

And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, one of the spirit children of God (Lucifer being another) ...

Grace has it all (with notes) H E R E.

So, what's the big deal about being Mormon and running for Prez anyway?

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Ancient Faith Radio will broadcast a new program beginning June 2, 2007, called, "Frederica Here and Now," featuring weekly updates from noted Orthodox Christian author and speaker Frederica Mathewes-Green. "Frederica Here and Now" will be heard several times per week but will also be available via download on the Ancient Faith Radio website.

The broadcast will feature fresh reflections on Frederica's travel and experiences. She will talk to interesting people, tell us fascinating stories and share unique insight into the changing world in which we live.

Frederica has also expressed her enthusiasm over this new project. "It's an exciting time to be a writer, with the media continually transforming itself and offering new ways to communicate. The podcast concept offers fresh, flexible, and compelling possibilities of audio communication. I knew I didn't want to record pre-written pieces in a studio setting. I wanted to go out exploring--to use the medium's portability to create short pieces prompted by the things I see and hear and read, the people I meet, the places I go. I'm delighted that Ancient Faith Radio will host my podcast, 'Here and Now,' and looking forward to exploring this new medium's capabilities."

Plans include offering the weekly broadcast as a free download which can be played at any time. It will also be available as a podcast via RSS subscription for users of iTunes®, as well as users of iPods® and other MP3 players.
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Here follows a portion of this week's Orthodixie Podcast on Ancient Faith Radio.

I regularly get emails from folks, clergy and laity, who are disappointed and seemingly stuck where they are in their current church, denomination, communion, or whatever they call their non-denominational grouping.

Let’s just say they all go to Blank Church, within the Blank Communion.

Now at Blank Church, in the Blank Communion, things are looking kinda bleak. Many of these folks have sent me emails saying, “Dear Father, I still belong to Bleakidy Blank. What should I do?”

Or: “HELP! I’m a member of Bleakidy Blank. I've fallen and I can’t get up!”

This is where the bad movie dialogue comes in. Did you ever see the movie TWISTER? Bill Paxton’s character spends a good part of the movie saying the same lines, over and over. They go something like this:

RUN! GET OUT! HURRY! RUN!

And, that’s my first reaction, my gut response, to these emails: RUN! HURRY! GET OUT!

Then the letter goes on to state, "I’ve been a member of Bleakidy Blank for most of my life" … or, "I’m a pastor with a wife and 4 kids" … or, "I’m ready for Orthodoxy but my wife isn’t" … or, "My sins are way too big to squeeze into narrow ol’ Orthodoxy" … etc.

So that’s when I think: RUN! GET OUT! HURRY! RUN!

But, I know better. It’s not so easy.

Besides, when you’re on the outside ...


Listen to it all H E R E.

Image stolen from University of Pittsburgh.
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A big ol' white boy from a lil ol' Mission in Texas is gonna be representin' in Russia next week. (Look for him in the pics; he'll "be the guy with the robes and the beard.") In honour of this historic occasion, Ladies & Gentlemen, here's John Whiteford & the Pips:


Midnight Train to Russia

Are Ooo Cee Aye ... 's been good for the man,

But he's leavin' the life he's come to know,

He said he's goin' back to find

Ooh, what's left of the Church,

That Church they left behind

Not so long ago.

He's leaving,

On that midnight train to Russia,

And he's goin' back

To a brighter place this time.

Pray God be with him

On that midnight train to Russia,

He's gonna commune with him in this world

And pray God nourish this Vine.

He kept prayin'

That someday they'd come this far.

But he sure found out the hard way

That dreams don't always come true.

So he poured out all his hopes

and never shrank from a spar

Bought some two way ticket packs

To the life he once knew,

Oh yes he did,

He said he would

Be leavin

On that midnight train to Russia,

But he's comin' back

To a brighter place this time.

And our prayers are with him

On that midnight train to Russia,

He's gonna commune with them in this world

To grow toward that one in Thine.

Go, gonna board, gonna board,

Gonna board the midnight train ...

Original lyrics source.

Pic is from 2001: Fr John and his Godson (my son), Basil.
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Regarding this post -- which some have attributed to me, but is actually a comment by Mark Krikorian found on National Review Online ...

Here's the response to Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori from Nigerian Archbishop Peter J. Akinola:

"You speak in your letter of centuries old custom regarding diocesan boundaries. You are, of course, aware that the particular historical situation to which you make reference was intended to protect the church from false teaching not to prevent those who hold to the traditional teaching of the church from receiving faithful episcopal care. ... I also find it curious that you are appealing to the ancient customs of the church when it is your own Province's deliberate rejection of the biblical and historic teaching of the Church that has prompted our current crisis."

tmatt's penned the whole story H E R E.

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Now this is what I want you all to do:

If you got faults, defects or shortcomings,

You know, like arthritis, rheumatism or migraines,

Whatever part of your body it is,

I want you to lay it on your radio, let the vibes flow through.

Funk not only moves, it can re-move, dig?

The desired effect is what you get

When you improve your Interplanetary Funksmanship.

P. Funk (Wants To Get Funked Up) from Mothership Connection, 1975. Source

During a chapel service, Sisters of St. Francis nuns, including Sister Georgiana Franzluebbers, in front, offer blessings. For a fee, the sisters will pray for clients' specific needs.

The real story, from the Houston Chronicle.

Thanks to FWD from Doug Burns.
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A brother said to an old man, "See, Abba, I frequently ask the Fathers to give me an earnest reminder for the salvation of my soul, and I do not remember a thing of what they tell me."

Now the old man had two empty vessels, and he said to the brother, "Go, bring one of the vessels and pour water in it; rinse it, pour it out, and put it back in its place, all shiny."

The brother did this several times, and the old man said to him, "Bring both vessels at once."

And when he had brought them, he said, "Of the two, which one is cleaner?"

The brother answered, "The one I put water in and cleaned."

Then the old man said to him, "Son, thus it is with the soul that frequently hears the word of God; though the soul remembers nothing of what she asked, she is nonetheless cleansed more than the soul that did not inquire."

-- Vitae Patrum
(taken from Spiritual Direction in the Early Christian East, Irénée Hausherr, SJ - p.248)

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The following story has nothing to do with Christianity, forgive me; rather, it is a campfire tale. That said – You have been warned – here’s the unabridged version of an impromptu yarn spun on our recent camping trip to Huntsville State Park. (Hover over the pics for captions; click to enlarge).

My son and I arrived ahead of the girls due to a middle school concert last Thursday evening. As we went to set up the tent, I spotted what looked like part of a root sticking out of the ground. I kicked it – repeatedly, because it budged. Eventually I succeeded in uprooting a very old wooden tent peg with a piece of canvas still tied around it. I threw it to the side, thinking no more of it.

There were tornado warnings to the south of us, thunder and lightning all around. This coupled with the approach of dusk hastened our set-up endeavors. We’d bought some firewood, which we prudently stacked under the picnic table to keep it dry. As I hastened to find some small fire-starter sticks, my eyes once again landed on the old tent peg. I picked it up only to realize it was soaked, through and through – not even good for kindling.

In the end, we had a good trip: the kids rode their bikes, we canoed, hiked, and all the other good things that camping offers.

I’d already told the kids on our final evening that we would not have a fire the next morning because, due to all the rain they’d had in Huntsville earlier in the week, it’d take too long to get a fire going – especially when we'd be breaking camp after breakfast.

Undeterred and somewhat forgetful, my 9-year old son walked straight to the fire pit immediately after rising on Saturday and began arranging twigs and such. I reminded him of the fire-less plan ...

“What? No more s’mores? But, Dad!”

Okay. So, I caved.

In our struggle to burn stuff that would cooperate, I noticed the old tent peg and threw it in among the fledgling flames. Later, the kids noticed that the peg was not burning – no matter the increased heat of the campfire.

Boy: “Dad? Why won’t that stick burn?”

Dad: “Because … that’s the stick of Billy McGillicutty who’s buried beneath that very spot where our fire now burns.”

Boy: “Da-a-a-a-ad!”

Dad: “It’s true. Little Billy McGillicutty never had any friends and his parents didn’t seem to love him. They loved to camp; but him, they ignored. Then one day he befriended that piece of wood … that tent peg. He ran around everywhere talking to that piece of wood. It’s sad what happened. Really.

Girl: “Are you making this up?”

Boy: “Dad … what happened to him?”


Dad: “Well … you know how I told you that he would run around with that tent peg? Well, his mom would yell at him telling him not to run with that stob in his hands or he’d put his eye out. His dad? Well, his dad had been drinking and yelled – ‘Boy! Bring me back my tent peg or I’ll kill you!’”

Boy: “What happened?”

Dad: "He killed him."

Girl: “Dad. Really. Are you making this up?”

Dad: “The locals say Billy made a pact with that old stick. He told the tent peg that they were inseparable – he would never leave that piece of wood. And some say that Billy McGillicutty believed that the peg promised to never leave him …




He’s buried right there on that spot where the fire now burns. And that old tent peg resurfaces from time to time and, although many campers think to burn it during their holidays, it always disappoints … it never burns. It just silently guards the body of its buddy, Billy McGillicutty.








They say the mother went crazy when her son’s life was cut short. She was sent to the state mental hospital … his dad was sent to prison. Years later, upon her release, the first place she came to was right here, to this very spot. Seems Billy's pop was sprung on the same day. She never heard it coming … the husband, the fury, the axe.

The old peg, thus, guards her grave here, too.”

There was a long pause. My eyes were squinting due to the fire’s smoke … finally:

Girl: “Dad, did you just make that up?”

Dad: “Yep.”

Boy: “Dad! Are you serious? You just made that up?”

Mom (from the picnic table): “What are y’all talking about?”

Girl: “Dad just made up a story …”

There was a longer pause. Almost on cue, as if in a movie, my son reached down into the fire and pulled the barely charred peg out and laid it reverently on the ground beside the firepit. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow …

Boy: “Dad! I know you just made it up … but, I kinda think we shouldn’t burn it.”

I laughed. We all went into mega-camp-breaking-mode.

An hour or so later, we're all loaded up and my son and I are awaiting the females to return from the restrooms ...

Boy: "Dad, did you really just make that story up?"

Dad: "Yes."

Boy: “Uh ... well ... can I take that old tent peg home? I mean, do you think it would be okay?”

Dad: “Sure, son.”

Fast-forward a couple hours … back at home, unpacking the van ... oldest daughter is minding her own business when Boy taps her on the shoulder and she turns and squeaks at the same time. There he stands holding the only friend of Billy McGillicutty.

True of false, it never fails: Boys and their sticks, girls and their squeaks, old men and their tales …

Camping.


NOTE: The name "Billy McGillicutty" just popped into my head when telling the tale and is not connected to any other works using the name.
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Honest to goodness, something about this picture just ain't right.

I stole it from GetReligion ... where tmatt is all worried about titles and such.

Y'all, I don't know what to say.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words ...

But I can't think of a [worthy] one.


For more funny pics and sound commentary, scroll down the GR Page.

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PATNA, India (Reuters) - Villagers at a wedding in eastern India decided the groom had arrived too drunk to get married, and so the bride married the groom's more sober brother instead, police said on Monday.

The younger brother readily agreed to take the groom's place beside the teenage bride at her family's invitation, witnesses said.

The story.
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It's been a while since I've mentioned the Episcopal Church -- and, in some ways, I regret this update. However, it is what it is. The following is a comment by Mark Krikorian found on National Review Online.

The head of the Episcopal Church, Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori, is complaining about Nigerian Anglican bishops coming to Virginia this weekend to formally install the head of the conservative breakaway denomination in this country. Here's what she said: "Such action would violate the ancient customs of the church."

I kid you not. The female head of a church with a practicing homosexual bishop planning to "marry" his lover, a church that could accept into seminary the adulterous homosexual governor of New Jersey, a church that embraces splitting open babies' skulls and vacuuming their brains out, is complaining about violating ancient customs? Wow.

Thanks to FWD from Fr Basil Biberdorf.
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NOTE: Someone informed me that they were having trouble loading my most recent Ancient Faith Radio Podcast into their iPod.

I believe that issue has been resolved ...

Here 'tis.

Otherwise, as you were.
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Today marks the half way point on our journey from Pascha to Pentecost.

In the middle of the feast, O Saviour, fill my thirsting soul with the waters of godliness, as Thou didst cry unto all: If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink! O Christ God, Fountain of life, glory to Thee! (Troparion)

Christ God, the Creator and Master of all, cried to all in the midst of the feast of the law: Come and drink the water of immortality! We fall before Thee and faithfully cry: Grant us Thy bounties, for Thou art the Fountain of our life! (Kontakion)
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So, let us cry:

Christ is Risen from the dead, trampling down death by Death ... and upon those in the tombs bestowing Life!

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This ol' 666 is at least number 491 'round here.

Look, he might be considered "God" by knuckleheads in other countries ... but in the Hispanic haven of Houston, he's just another Jesus.

(Who can't hold a candle to the other 490 or so.)

Jesus Might Be Alive and Well in Houston.

"The same spirit that was in Jesus of Nazareth, and the same spirit is in me. He came to me. He [integrated] with my person in 1973." de Jesus says this happened when two angels came to him in a vision, and while he admits there's no real way for him to prove that he's Christ, he says his followers aren't asking for proof.

"So you tell the millions of followers I have that … this guy is a liar. You know what are they going to say? Is that I prefer his lies than what religion gave me. I prefer, see because when they believe in what I teach, they activate angels in their life."

Hmmmm ... Angels?

No doubt.

Thanks to FWD from Keith.
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This, stolen with gratitude, from today's edition of The Writer's Almanac ...

It was on this day in 1611 that the first edition of the King James Bible was published in England. It is one of the greatest and most influential works in the English language, even though it was translated by a committee.

It was produced during a particularly chaotic period for England. An epidemic of the black plague had struck London so severely that the year before work began on the King James Bible, 30,000 Londoners had died of the disease. At the same time, Puritans in the country were beginning to agitate against the monarchy as a form of government. And a group of underground Catholics were plotting to assassinate the king.

King James I thought that a new translation of the Bible might help hold the country together. There had been several English translations of the Bible already, but King James wanted a Bible that would become the definitive version. Previous versions had been translated from Latin. King James wanted his Bible to be more accurate to the original Hebrew and Greek. King James also decided that his Bible should have as few explanatory notes as possible, so that it would appeal to the widest audience.

James assembled a committee of 54 of the best linguists in the country. They believed that the most important quality of the translation would be that it sound right, since it would be read aloud in churches. So when the committee would gather, each man read his verses aloud, to be judged and revised by the other men.

The translators also deliberately used old-fashioned language. At the time they were working on the Bible, words like "thou" and "sayeth" had already gone out of fashion. Some scholars believe that the translators wanted to give the sense that the language in the Bible came from long ago and far away.

The first edition came out on this day in 1611, but for decades, most people preferred the Puritan Geneva Bible, because of its plainer language. It was only after England went through a civil war that the King James Bible came into fashion. It went on to influence the way writers have used the English language for hundreds of years.

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A band member of a group in Indiana -- The SmallTown Heroes -- sent me an MP3 of a song called "Long Road to Heaven." I was picking through some JPEGs while listening and this pic, a shot from a Presanctified Liturgy came up. It just seemed to match as The SmallTown Heroes sang: "It's a long way to heaven, dear Lord ... It's a hard row to hoe ... And I don't know if I'll make it, dear Lord ... But I sure won't make it alone."

So, I'm thinking here ... a 45 record, shipped to country radio, wrapped in a Presanct.Lit.Cover ...

They've got a unique sound, not entirely bluegrass but nice strummin' and pickin'. Vocally: a little Springsteen, a dab o' Nitty Gritty, some Charlie Robinson, even a grainy gravel o' Fogerty.

Careful ... it's MySpace.

Pic couresty of Greg Quartararo.
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