The Gift of Seeing Our Poverty

A reflection by Mother Cecilia as we prepare for the Nativity of Our Lord

During this time of preparation for the birth of Our Lord, He has given me the gift of seeing my poverty a little more clearly. I am not talking about poverty in terms of a lack of physical things that I have, but in terms of my utter inability to do anything on my own without God. I’m weak, I’m limited and I’m frequently making mistakes and sinning.

When things are going well, I feel like I’m in control and I think that I can do anything! It’s when I’m struggling and suffering that I see my poverty. God allows this struggle and suffering for many reasons, one of which is that it helps me to see my poverty. When this happens, I often wonder, “Why do I have to see this poverty?” It really hurts! Sometimes I remember the words of one of my favorite saints, who said, “The Mighty One has done great things for me, and the greatest of these is to have shown me my littleness, my incapability of any good" (St. Therese of Lisieux, Story of a Soul).  Wow! I usually don’t think of this revelation as a gift, let alone as the greatest gift!

I’m beginning to learn that the knowledge of my poverty is a gift. I’d like to share some of the reasons why. First of all, it’s always better to know the truth. “The truth will make you free” (Jn 8:32). And the truth is not only that I’m poor; it is also the truth that God is rich—rich in power, mercy and love. Seeing my poverty gives me the opportunity to more clearly see God’s greatness.

Secondly, as I learn the truth, I see that it is God who does all things in me, and I learn that He does them so much better than I could ever imagine. St. Paul tells us that the Lord said to him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9). Therefore we can say with St. Paul, “When I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor 12:10).

Thirdly, the knowledge of my poverty shows me that God loves me for who I am, not for any sort of perfect actions I can do for Him. It’s actually my poverty that attracts God to me! The poverty of mankind drew Him to become man and to pour His divinity into our humanity! I am like the poor and messy cave in which Jesus was born. He could have arranged to be born in a cleaner, neater place, but He didn’t. He could wait until I seemingly have “everything under control” to do His work, but He tends to do His most powerful work in me when I am the weakest.

Finally, a great gift of seeing my poverty is so that I can surrender to God and give Him permission to work in me and be with me. When I think that I can do everything, I forget to do it with Him. I forget that He wants to be with me!

As we celebrate the Nativity of Our Lord, we notice the poor and messy cave because of the One who was born in it. We rejoice that Jesus chose to enter into this poverty. But the point of the feast is not to remain gazing at the cave and the manger alone, but to gaze upon God who has become man. We can see His face and live (Ex 33:20)! I often get stuck focusing my eyes on the poor “manger” of my heart and forget to keep my eyes on Jesus. I get discouraged by all of my weaknesses and forget about Him there in the midst of them.

When I am discouraged, I am a poor and messy closed space, but when I trust in God, I am a poor and messy open one. I need to accept my weakness and allow it to be the place where God can enter in and work in His power. When we open to the birth of Divine Life in us, we can rejoice with Mary, the Mother of God, in the words of her Magnificat: “He has looked with favor upon the lowliness of His servant, from this day forward all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and Holy is His name!”

Sr. Natalia explains her name

Sr. Natalia was tonsured and received her new name on Dec. 5, during Vespers for the Feast of St. Nicholas. Following monastic tradition, she submitted three names to Mother Theodora, who chose Natalia. Sr. Natalia is named after the Apostle Bartholomew (Nathaniel). She would like to share with you about her connection with her patron.

The Apostle Bartholomew (Nathaniel)
Feast Day: June 11

My greatest draw to Nathaniel is John 1:43-51, when Christ calls him and Philip. I wish to emulate both his knowledge of scripture, and his bold conviction of faith in saying, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” I also wish to imitate his immediate conversion and whole-hearted trust in proclaiming Christ as God and King as soon as he encounters Him intimately. More than anything else in this passage though, I strive to one day be “without guile,” as Jesus acknowledges Nathaniel to be.

His life after Christ’s ascension is also a great source of inspiration. He was crucified upside down next to Philip. Though Philip died, Bartholomew was rescued. Rather than understandably “retire” from mission work at this point, Batholomew continued traveling and preaching the gospel until he was flayed and beheaded. I pray our Bridegroom grants me this courage to profess my faith for all time, unmoving in the face of adversity and persecution, as did the good Bartholomew.

Some beautiful liturgical propers:

“Jesus our God, the Sun of glory, sent you to the whole world like a ray of light to disperse the gloom of ungodliness, O all-glorious one, and to enlighten all who sit in the darkness of ignorance.” 

“Submitting to the will of Him Whose will all things obey, you imitated Him as a teacher of righteousness.”

A Furnace of God's Love

The Fathers of the Church compare a person who prays to an iron rod placed in a blazing furnace of fire. By surrendering her life totally to God, a nun seeks to remain constantly in this furnace of God's love, and allow Him to transform her into Himself. What does this look like? What do nuns do? This video, which we produced for our "Bridegroom's Banquet" benefit dinner, gives a glimpse into the joys and struggles of monastic life and its purpose in the world.

The Oil of Desire

In honor of Mother Theodora's feast day today (the feast of Blessed Theodore Romzha, martyred Byzantine Catholic bishop), here is Mother's reflection on the parable of the wise and foolish virgins (Mt 25:1-13) from our recent newsletter:      

"Behold, the Bridegroom is here! Go and welcome Him!” What stirs in your heart? “The Bridegroom is here!” Does your heart leap, does it wince or is it indifferent? We, like the ten virgins, all hear the same message and are called to be prepared, to keep vigilance and to respond at the arrival of the Bridegroom with blazing lamps filled with oil.

What is this oil? St. Seraphim of Sarov teaches us that the oil is “the grace of the All-Holy Spirit of God.” He says, "The true goal of our Christian life consists in the acquisition of the Holy Spirit. What God requires is a true faith in Himself and His Only begotten Son. In return He generously bestows the grace of the Holy Spirit. The Lord seeks hearts filled with love for God and for one's neighbor." This oil is the oil of desire—the oil of love. Jesus promises us, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.  And I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him. You know Him, because He abides with you, and He will be in you” (Jn 14:15-17).

We should learn from the foolish virgins who were indifferent and sought oil at the “market place” (the world that cannot receive, see or know the Spirit of Truth).  How often do we seek to purchase the oil of our desires in the “market place” and become distracted and lost in its distorted view of reality and its temporal gratification and artificial fulfillment? The Bridegroom is the ultimate fulfillment of our desires.

All ten virgins were virtuous and did good works. However, the oil of the Holy Spirit filled the wise virgins’ hearts with desire and love for God and neighbor, while in contrast, the foolish virgins, who were lacking this oil, were indifferent and acted more out of obligation than love.

The five wise virgins were prepared because they knew and loved the Bridegroom and possessed the oil of desire. Prayer, which is ultimately union with God, is essential to know and desire Christ. Prayer is a dialogue or a knowing silence of oneness of being with the Other. “The Fathers of the Church say that prayer, properly understood, is nothing other than becoming a longing for God” (Mary: The Church and the Source, Ratzinger and Hans Urs Von Balthasar, 2005). Our “oil of desire” that keeps our lamps burning is continuously replenished and purified with each encounter with Christ. St. Augustine, in his reflection on Psalm 37, says, “Desire is your prayer; and if your desire is without ceasing, your prayer will also be without ceasing. The continuance of your longing is the continuance of your prayer.”

This longing is echoed in the troparian (hymn) for a woman martyr, “I love you my Bridegroom. I seek You with painful longing,” and expressed in Psalm 63:1,3, “O God, You are my God. For You I long, for You my soul is thirsting. My body pines for You like a dry, weary land without water.” May our hearts be lamps burning with desire for union with the Bridegroom as His heart mutually yearns for us (Sg 7:11). His love for us is an eternal, inexhaustible flame that nothing can quench (Sg 8:7).

The sessional hymn for Matins of Great and Holy Tuesday  incites us to be enflamed with divine desire for Christ our Bridegroom:

“O faithful, let us be on fire with love of the Bridegroom, and with lamps burning, let us go out to meet Him. May the light of our virtue shine brightly, and may our faith be radiant. With the wise virgins, let us prepare to enter the banquet hall of the Lord; for the divine Spouse offers us all the crown of immortality.” 

The Bridegroom is here! Go and welcome Him!

Praying with the Psalms

Enjoy this short video about the psalms produced by the Eparchy of Parma and featuring some of us!


The Psalms from The Eparchy of Parma on Vimeo.

The Voice of the Merciful Father

(Originally published in our spring newsletter)

By Fr. Jeff Barnish, St. Bernadette Parish, Westlake, Ohio

"Only one who has been caressed by the tenderness of mercy truly knows the Lord” (Pope Francis, March 7, 2015, address to the Communion and Liberation movement). 

“But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you” (Matthew 6:6).

In the midst of the Sermon on the Mount, just before He teaches His disciples the “Our Father,” Jesus invites them to encounter His Father in the solitude of the inner room.  His invitation arises from the depth of His intimate knowledge of the interplay between the Father and the human heart.  If we’re honest with ourselves, we have to agree with Jeremiah when he writes “More tortuous than anything is the human heart….”  Among its tortures are the myriad of voices vying for its attention, pulling it in a thousand directions.  For many, myself included, the poustinia house at Christ the Bridegroom Monastery incarnates the inner room of Jesus’ imagination, where the human heart and the Ancient of Days meet in secret, far from the din of the world.

The voice of the Father is so often the still, silent voice that Elijah encounters at Mount Horeb.  It is easily missed in the cacophony of the culture.  The noise of the present age so often drowns out the merciful whisper of God.  This is why Jesus invites us to encounter God in the inner room and why the poustinia exists. The silence of the poustinia house amplifies the Voice of Mercy and opens the human heart to be “caressed by the tenderness of mercy.” The Father does not typically compete with the other voices of our daily lives by raising His own. Instead, He waits patiently to meet us alone, apart from the multitude.  The Father knows that the inner room provides the ideal setting for us to receive His initiatives of love.

Our world can be a weary one and it wears on us.  Though Christ has risen, triumphant over sin and death, we remain subject to the afflictions of a world that is already and not yet.  In this Year of Mercy, our Holy Father invites us to believe that our sinfulness and suffering comprise the privileged place of encounter.  Yet, if we do not quiet the deafening voices that numb our anguish, we will be unable to hear the murmur of the merciful Father.

I’ve had the privilege of finding refuge in the silence of the monastery and the Shrine of Our Lady of Mariapoch a number of times since my ordination last May.  One of the lines from the Rite of Ordination that has stayed with me from that day comes from the prayer of ordination itself in which the Bishop prays, “May they be joined with us, Lord, in imploring your mercy for the people entrusted to their care and for all the world.”  Most days, the priestly call to implore mercy has left me all too aware of my own need for that same mercy.  It is this realization that drives me to the footsteps of the monastery, seeking the gentle mercy of Jesus.  There, in the quiet of the upper room, the Voice of Mercy is audible.

Encountering God's Mercy at the Monastery

(Originally published in our spring newsletter)

By Eric Garris, Seminarian for the Diocese of Cleveland

Recently, Pope Francis released a new book entitled “The Name of God is Mercy” (which I highly recommend!) as part of his desire for the Church to celebrate this Extraordinary Jubilee Year of Mercy.   In this interview the pope is asked the simple question, “What is mercy for you?”  Although the question itself was quite simple, the response given by the Holy Father was incredibly profound when he stated, “Mercy is the divine attitude which embraces, it is God giving himself to us, accepting us, and bowing to forgive […] mercy is God’s identity card.”  I sat with this line and let God speak to my heart as I prayerfully reflected on the words of Pope Francis.  I thought of how many times we as a Church cry out from the depths of our hearts asking for God to be merciful towards us; we repeatedly cry out as a Church community within the liturgy “Lord have mercy,” we chant Psalms in which we entreat God for mercy, and we pray in the silence of our hearts, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.”  These prayers for mercy vocalize our hearts’ desire to have God embrace us—embrace us in the midst of our brokenness, our sinfulness and our pains.

And while we certainly experience God’s mercy within the liturgy, personal prayer and the Sacraments/Holy Mysteries, I also believe that one of most profound ways that we experience the mercy of God is in others, in particular those who have experienced mercy in a profound way in their own lives.  As I read the line about God’s mercy being the divine attitude which embraces, I also thought of the people, the places and the groups/communities that have embraced me, have been merciful to me, and have taught me how to love and how to be merciful.  The women of Christ the Bridegroom Monastery have been incredibly merciful toward me; they have embraced me, they have taught me how to love, they have taught me how to be merciful, but most especially, they have allowed for me to encounter the mercy of God.

I have experienced mercy and have been embraced by the women of the community, and for this I give thanks to God.  Whether it be simply heading over to celebrate and pray Vespers with them, sitting around over coffee and sharing stories and laughs, enjoying a meal with them, or whatever it may be, I have indeed been embraced by these women.  But their embrace and their showing of mercy is not simply in what they have done for me, but in the very nature of who they are.  Just as mercy is “God’s identity card,” mercy is the identity of the women of Christ the Bridegroom Monastery.  The fruit of their spousal relationship with Christ and Christ’s Church is the love and mercy that they exude, and this love and mercy is infectious!  So too I have been able to experience the mercy of God through the monastery—in the poustinia, in the communal prayer and liturgy, and in the others whom I have been blessed to encounter through my association and friendship with the nuns.  

It is my prayer that the women of Christ the Bridegroom Monastery may continue to be icons of mercy, sharing with the world the love which is born between them and their Bridegroom, Christ Himself.

Vocations blessed by ‘fatherly love’

Bishop John entrusting Sr. Iliana to Mother Theodora, September 2015

The first time I read St. John Paul II’s apostolic letter “Orientale Lumen” (“Light of the East”), I was intrigued by the thought of monasticism “flourishing once more in the Eastern Churches” and thought, “That sounds really cool, but how’s that ever going to happen?”

Little did I know that, years later, I would meet a bishop who saw this need and had the courage and vision to make it reality.

Bishop John Kudrick publicized his vision of monasticism for the Eparchy of Parma in 2008.

At that time, I was already in dialogue with him and was seriously discerning monasticism. To be honest, the thought of it “freaked me out” at times, but I distinctly remember the peace and the confident “yes” when I read his document.

His vision was firmly grounded in “Light of the East,” which devoted considerable attention to monasticism as a necessary “reference point for all the baptized” and as the “very soul of the…church.”

From the beginning of Christ the Bridegroom Monastery, Bishop John has been our spiritual father and he has shared with us his love of God and prayer, truly incarnating his desire to teach God’s children how to pray and to experience the peaceful and life-giving presence of God within.

Each of us at the monastery is grateful to have been blessed with his fatherly love:

“Bishop John’s ‘yes’ to the Holy Spirit’s inspiration for this monastery gave me the ability to say my ‘yes’ to the incredible gift of my monastic vocation. Through Bishop John’s example, he has also helped me to learn how to pray and to seek God in gentleness and simplicity.”
  — Mother Cecilia

“Bishop John’s love of prayer drew me and so many others into the heart of the Byzantine Church. I attribute the beginning of my love for our liturgical prayer to evenings spent at Bishop John’s residence, praying Vespers with other young adults. I am so grateful for the seeds planted during those years, which have blossomed into the monastic vocation I am blessed to live today.”
— Mother Gabriella

“Bishop John is a witness of humility and faith and a manifestation of the Father’s love.”
   — Sister Emilia

“It amazes me when I consider that without Bishop John’s prayerful vision and his courage to start a women’s monastery, I would not be able to live out my vocation today. For this I will always be grateful.”
      — Sister Iliana

“I’ve known Bishop John for such a short time, yet he welcomed me into his flock with the gentle love of Christ. He is one of the most sincere men I have ever known.”
— Victoria

Through God’s grace, we pray that monasticism will continue to flourish in the Eastern Churches.

--Mother Theodora (originally published in Horizons, the newspaper of the Eparchy of Parma)

“Here am I, and the children the LORD has given me" (Isaiah 8:18).

Among the various saints we commemorate today, one is St. Emilia, the mother of ten children, five of whom are canonized saints.  Below is a reflection from our Sr. Emilia on the occasion of her feast day and Mother's Day.

Eight months ago, when I was given the name “Emilia” at my tonsure, I was in awe of the Lord’s reminder that He had named me as His many years ago, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you...” (Jeremiah 1:5). Mother Theodora chose the name Emilia because of the connection with motherhood and my love for children.  Accordingly, at my confirmation (10 years ago) and again at my tonsure; the words of Isaiah 62:2,5 were fulfilled, “You shall be called by a new name which the mouth of the Lord shall give…as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so shall your God rejoice over you.” The Lord continues to speak to my heart, showing me how I am called to love in a maternal manner; showing me His great desire to love me, as my Father.  I have loved hearing and responding to the voice of Abba calling out to me, His little girl, “Emilia!” Never have I felt so loved.

After my tonsure, I looked at the calendar to see on which day my feast fell this year and whether it was in a fasting period or not (important, right?!). I was happy to see that it fell on a non-fast day. Then I looked again and laughed at God’s work…of course my first feast day as “Sr. Emilia” would fall on Mother’s Day! He truly does give us the desires of our hearts. 

This feast day, falling on Mother’s Day, is perfect because the reason I am named Emilia is due to motherhood. I chose that name for my confirmation in 8th grade in honor of my mom and the mother of St. John Paul II. Then, I was given that name again 10 years later as a byzantine monastic, at my tonsure as a rasophore nun. St. Emilia has been to me a mother who consoled me in the loss of my mom, who guided me in my love for children as a nanny, and now in my discernment of whether I am called to biological or spiritual motherhood.

 

Sr. Emilia with her mother, dad & step-mom, "Aunt" Shirley, & godmother

I celebrate today the joy of being a spiritual mother to many children. I am especially grateful to God for the children who hold a special place in my heart: my youngest siblings, as well as Matthew, Abigail, Andrew, Maria and Daeclyn Emmelia Rose. I am thankful for the mothers that God placed in my life, especially Our Lady and my mother and godmother, who have gone to be with the Lord, as well as those mothers who God gave me in place of them, to lead me in my walk closer to union with the Bridegroom: Mother Theodora, Aunt Shirley and my step-mom, Lisa.  These children and women are to me the people who lead me to be a better “mother.” Who are the women in your life who are being honored today? What children has the Lord given you? Let us thank the Lord today for all women who accept the call to be "Mom" and pray for those who desire to be biological mothers, but are unable to be. 

"My weaknesses don't inhibit His love"

Newsletter Reflection 6 of 6

A reflection from Victoria about her entrance as a dokimos (postulant) on Sept. 30, 2015.

The days leading up to my entrance were focused on opening my heart to be receptive to the love of the Father, a grace for which I had never really asked, but badly needed. God answered those prayers through scripture and meditation, helping me to see the ways He has healed my wounds and invited me to a deeper discernment of marriage to Him. He graciously showed me how my weaknesses not only don’t inhibit His love, but are in fact endearing to Him, and how it brings Him joy to work through and in those weaknesses.

I was most struck at my entrance by Bishop John’s passionate homily. His words on trust stirred within me both an anticipation of the ways in which I would need to trust, but also encouragement that when I do trust, God will always provide. In the Gospel reading from Matthew at Vespers the night of my entrance, Jesus said, “Ask and it will be given you; seek, and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you…what man of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone?...If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” (7:7-11). This was a reminder to me of the Father’s intense love for us, so much more intense than anything we’ve ever experienced.

Because my entrance was on a feast of Our Lady—the Protection of the Mother of God—we sang many hymns to her during Vespers. In one of these hymns we sang, “O Theotokos, you cooperated with the invitation offered by the Holy Spirit.” Mary is the most prominent example of immense trust in our Bridegroom. She is a constant reminder for me that God always gives us a choice, but also that He bears so much fruit within our hearts when we make the choice to follow Him. This hymn, combined with the Gospel reading, says we must trust and believe in how much it delights Him when we say “yes” and also how much He delights in saying “yes” to us!

A few days after my entrance, I was reflecting on the Lord’s words, that we should ask of Him what we desire. My first thought was one of concern, that I may ask for the wrong things. But Christ reminded me of His love of my weaknesses and of the trust He requires of me, and He gently reminded me that even when I ask the wrong question, He will always give me the right answer. The two months [now six months!] since my entrance have already presented opportunities for trust—trust that God will bless and bring forth fruit from my sacrifices, and that He will continue to pour upon me the graces I need to keep my heart open to Him and to maintain this path of discernment.

"I don't know what to do with all this joy!"

Ok, we're back to posting the remaining reflections from our winter newsletter!

Newsletter Reflection 5 of 6

A reflection from Sr. Iliana about her tonsure as a rasophore nun, Sept. 7, 2015

One of the most pivotal moments of my discernment occurred almost two years ago, while I was on retreat here at the monastery. To be completely honest, I had almost cancelled the retreat because I was afraid of what God might be doing in my life. I had heard Him call to me, “you are mine” over a decade earlier – which in my heart was very clearly a call to religious life – but I did not really understand where He wanted me to live out His calling and was a little tired of asking. As I prayed on the first morning of the retreat, I found myself sitting in a tree with Zacchaeus, waiting for a glimpse of Jesus in the crowd below. As Jesus walked by my hiding place, He looked up at me and said, “Moki, come down” (Moki was my name before I became a nun). It was in response to these words that I immediately quit my job and left everything behind to follow Him. The prophet Isaiah says, “I have called you by your name, you are mine” (Is 43:1). Jesus had called me by my name, and as Zacchaeus, I “made haste and came down, and received Him joyfully”(Lk 19:6).

All words seem inadequate in expressing the joy that I felt on the day of my tonsure. This joy came from being called by Jesus, who had stooped down to his lowly servant saying, “You, follow me” (Jn 21:22). What joy it is to be called by Jesus – called by name – and to dwell in His heart in the heart of the Church. Joy is a fruit of the Holy Spirit (see Gal 5:22), and this particular fruit is very apparent in those who respond to His call. The tonsure was on the Feast of the Nativity of the Mother of God, and what a beautiful example Mary is of the joy of responding to God’s call. After her “yes,” Mary cries out, “my spirit rejoices in God my Savior” (Lk 1:47). The Gospels tell us that after Jesus calls the rich young man to follow him, he goes away “sad” (Lk 18:23). Just as the fruit of not answering Jesus’ call is sadness, conversely the fruit of responding to His call is infinite joy.

During my retreat before tonsure, the Lord asked me again if I would follow Him, and I was repeatedly able to join in Mary’s “yes.” These many “yeses” brought an incredible joy to my heart: the joy of knowing that He had called me, and most importantly, the joy of knowing that I was loved. After retreat, I kept being led to scriptures such as: “Serve the Lord with gladness” (Ps 100:2), “The joy of the Lord is my strength” (Neh 8:10), “I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy” (Ps 27:6), and “Let the faithful rejoice in their glory, shout for joy and take their rest” (Ps 149:5). I wondered, how could souls be shouting for joy and resting at the same time? Then I understood that they are resting in the knowledge of His love. They are resting because they know that they are His own, His chosen ones. It is when they rest in His heart of love, in His loving gaze, that they can do nothing other than “shout for joy” and dance as God Himself is dancing “with shouts of joy,” for they know that God has “renewed them with His love” and this joy is too great to keep contained in their hearts (Zeph 3:17).  

On the evening of the tonsure, I exclaimed to a priest-friend, “I don’t know what to do with all this joy!” But deep in my heart I do know what to do with it: I must share it with you. 

In the Shadow of the Cross, at the Tomb

I went to visit a family member in the hospital this week, and while I was there, we were chatting about the weather and I commented that the sun was shining when I came in.  “The sun is shining?  It looks dark out to me!” was the reply.  So I opened the curtain, but part of the hospital building was blocking the sun from shining directly outside the window.  “Still looks dark to me.”  No matter what I said or how I reassured that the sun was indeed shining, since it could not be seen from the angle we were looking, it was not believed.

I was struck by this exchange because so often in my own spiritual life I experience moments of "darkness," where I am not able to "see the sun shining."  All I can see from my vantage point is the shadow, the lack of sunshine – the absence of the presence of God.  In those moments when God seems far away, hidden or completely absent, I must rely in faith on those around me who assure me that He is in fact still there, still "shining." I also must rely on His word, because He said He is always there: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight” (Proverbs 3:5).

I often times feel as if God’s felt absence is a sign of displeasure or disfavor, and I am led to ask "What did I do wrong?  How can I fix it so You will come back?"  In that moment, I can echo the words of the Bride in the Song of Songs: “I sought him whom my soul loves, I sought him but I did not find him” (3:1).

I was reminded in a talk I heard this past weekend that His absence is not because I have done something wrong – but it is a means to draw me deeper.  The priest speaking was married and was relating his own distress when he and his beloved bride were forced to be apart for a number of months because of issues out their control. “I was a mess,” he confessed.  “I began to see her in the people walking down the street.  I thought of her when I heard our favorite songs on the radio or saw our favorite food in the grocery store.  It was in her absence that her presence was made known.”  As he spoke those final words, my heart was pierced.  How often do I endure God’s absence, rather than embrace it and allow it to produce THAT kind of longing in my heart?  If only His absence could be transformed into seeing Him in everyone and everything, instead of lamenting that I can’t "feel" Him! Oh, how much I have to learn!

So as we commemorate Our Lord's Passion, I offer this little reflection as something to ponder while we sit in the shadow of the Cross, while the Sun is darkened and His felt presence leaves us, and we await Him at the tomb.  May we cling to the Cross, embracing His absence as a sign of the great work He is doing for our salvation, full of expectant hope in the Resurrection to come on Pascha.

-Mother Gabriella

Good Friday and Annunciation…Together?

This year, Great and Holy Friday falls on March 25, the Feast of the Annunciation. The Byzantine Church doesn’t move the celebration of the feast, which might seem strange! However, I'd like to propose that it actually makes a lot of sense.

In these two events we see the awesome condescension of God, and we can look at both of them through the role of Mary, the Mother of God. First, at the Annunciation, God condescended to become man through Mary. Mary said “yes” in behalf of humanity, receiving in her body--as in a chalice--the gift of divinity, so that it could be poured out into the world in a way that we could receive it.

St. Ephrem beautifully expresses this mystery in one of his Hymns on the Nativity (#11):

A wonder is Your mother: The Lord entered her
and became a servant; He entered able to speak
and He became silent in her; He entered her thundering
and His voice grew silent; He entered Shepherd of all;
a lamb He became in her; He emerged bleating.
The womb of Your mother overthrew the orders:
The Establisher of all entered a Rich One;
He emerged poor. He entered her a Lofty One;
He emerged humble. He entered her a Radiant One,
and He put on a despised hue and emerged.
He entered, a mighty warrior, and put on fear
inside her womb. He entered, Nourisher of all,
and He acquired hunger. He entered, the One who gives drink to all,
and He acquired thirst. Stripped and laid bare,
He emerged from [her womb], the One who clothes all.

Secondly, at the Crucifixion, the Lord made another great act of condescension: the acceptance of physical death. And again, Mary was there saying “yes,” this time in behalf of the Church, receiving the gift of eternal life that was pouring forth from Jesus on the cross, as He changed death into life.

The Festal Theotokion in Tone 4 clearly illustrates the connection between these two events of the Annunciation and the Crucifixion, as well as Mary's role:

The mystery hidden from all ages and unknown to the angels has been made known to those on earth through you, O Theotokos. God has taken flesh in a union without confusion, and willingly accepted the Cross for us; whereby He raised the first-formed Adam and saved our souls from death.

These two condescensions of God--these two parts of the mystery of the Incarnation--changed everything, and they happened at the beginning and end of Jesus’ earthly life. So even though we think of one as a joyful event and the other as a sorrowful, it doesn’t seem strange to me to commemorate them together. There is also a tradition from early in the Church to do just that! This tradition said that Jesus died on March 25: “He suffered in the thirty-third year, March 25th, Friday, the eighteenth year of Tiberius Caesar, while Rufus and Roubellion were Consuls" (Commentary on Daniel by St. Hippolytus, 170-240 A.D.). And as the perfect man, it was believed that He had been conceived and died on the same day, therefore making March 25 the date of the Annunciation. (Later, the date of His Nativity, December 25, was based on this calculation.)

Fun facts aside, this Great and Holy Friday is a beautiful opportunity for us to reflect deeply on the mystery of the self-emptying of Christ through the Incarnation, with the Mother of God as our teacher and model. We can allow her to teach us how we can be a chalice like she was—receiving the love of God and pouring it out to others by loving them, making it accessible to them and helping them to thirst for more.

This year we lose our Annunciation mitigation of the fast for fish and oil, we get a major headache trying to decipher the liturgical typikon, and we feel the awkwardness of celebrating the Divine Liturgy on Great and Holy Friday…but theologically it seems very beautiful and meaningful to me to celebrate these two earth-shattering events of the Incarnation on the same day. Disagree if you want!...It won’t happen again until the year 2157 anyway!

–Mother Cecilia

Holy Smoke

A reflection from Sr. Iliana on the Mystery of Holy Repentance (Confession)

As we find ourselves in the midst of the Great Fast during the Year of Mercy, I am reminded of a reflection from many years ago. I sat down in a chapel and soaked in the faint and familiar smell of incense that inevitably filled my senses and reminded me of the presence of the Lord. This routine had proven to be a comfort many times in my life and I was grateful to God for the gift of sitting within the beauty of His house.

Then something unexpected happened. Someone sat down right behind me who smelled so strongly of stale cigarettes that I was immediately distracted by the overpowering smell. My initial reaction was one of irritation. Why does he smoke so much? Why does he have to sit so close to me? Everything was going so well until he showed up! I tried to pray, though I was so hopelessly distracted, that his smell was really all that was on my mind. I heard his heavy breathing behind me and realized his smoking was also paying a heavy toll on his health. Then I heard the slight rustle of tin foil and the faint smell of mint. The smell of the mint was attempting to cover up the stench of stale smoke, but it was not succeeding. All of a sudden I had a revelation. I realized that he knew he smelled badly and he was trying to cover it up. As if in an instant, this scene was teaching me about the state of my own soul. I asked myself, “Am I ever like this man when I am living in a state of sin, affecting others with a less-than-pleasing spiritual aroma?”

I had recently attended a talk given by Fr. Cantalamessa, the preacher to the papal household. In his talk, he described how he once witnessed a housewife preparing to receive an unexpected guest. As the doorbell rang, she ran and closed all the doors to the messy rooms in the house in order to make the house appear presentable to the guest. Fr. Cantalamessa explained that these are precisely the doors in our heart that we should open when the Lord comes to visit, for it is the Lord who will heal and renew and restore these places in our soul. As I sat in that smelly chapel, I realized that just as this man smelled of smoke, so my soul smelled of sin. I had closed off the messy rooms in my heart to Christ. If I opened those doors, He might see what was really hidden deep inside, which was something I did not want anyone to see. And so, when I kept those doors closed, the sins became buried deep within my immortal soul and I really began to smell.

I really do not like to think that I smell, and I certainly do not want my friends to notice that I smell. How many time in my life have I tried to cover up the stench of my sin with little mints – little excuses that help me to pretend that things are not as bad as they seem. The sins begin to damage my heart and my soul and soon I find myself breathing heavily, overburdened with the weight on my shoulders. Sin not only makes me smell, but it is such a heavy burden! It is so damaging to the tissues of my soul, just as those cigarettes are damaging to the tissues of the lungs.

I also find myself under the false impression that my sin is only harming my own soul. I tell myself, “It is really just my own problem and I can try to deal with it at some point when I feel ready.” What I do not realize is that the stench of my sin is also distracting others away from the Lord. My sin affects my neighbor. Instead of radiating the light of Christ and the love of God, I am focused on myself and my own misery, bringing my neighbors down into the mud along with me. After all, second hand smoke is more damaging than first hand smoke. I am reminded of another of Fr. Cantalamessa’s stories. One day just after leaving a prayer group, Father got on a bus. He was just sitting there on the bus, but in his heart he was still singing praises to the Lord. A lady on the bus turned to him and said, “When I look at your face, I am obliged to believe in God.” His radiance was so palpable to those around him that without a word he was giving glory to God.

In that moment in the chapel, I could see a living image of the Mystery of Holy Repentance (Confession). It is only through repentance that our stench is washed away. For a smoker it takes ten years to rebuild the damage done to the lungs, but through the great mercy of God we are made whole in an instant. As we leave the confessional, our faces should be radiant with joy and our souls filled with the sweet perfume of grace. The Lord washes the deepest wounds, the deepest stenches, and we are reborn in Him. We no longer need to cover up our stench with little mints, because the stench no longer exists. We are clean. We are whole. We are more who He made us to be at that moment than at any other time. Imagine if our whole church, our whole community, received this great grace of reconciliation and healing. Imagine if we were all made whole though this Holy Mystery (Sacrament). Imagine if we were all in a state of grace as we stood and prayed together during the Liturgy. Imagine if the whole chapel was filled with the smell of incense, which is the prayer of the saints!

“The smoke of the incense, mixed with the prayers of God's holy people, ascended up to God from the altar where the angel had poured them out.” Revelations 8:4

The Sunday of the Cross: Our “pacer” for our goal of union

A Reflection from Victoria for the Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross

As supposed lovers of Christ, it must seem to many an absurd tradition for us to even look upon a crucifix, much less venerate (kiss) one. Isn’t a cross, without the murdered body of Our Lord, enough to remind us of His sacrifice? Do we really need the added, gruesome detail of a bloodied, naked corpus? In the Canon at Matins every Friday, we express the anguish felt by the Theotokos: “Seeing Christ sacrificed on the cross as a lamb, His Mother cried out: O long-suffering and eternal Son, where has all your beauty gone?” Imagine the awful sight it must have been for the Bridegroom’s own mother to have momentarily lost perception of His beauty.

The crucifix should be embarrassing. This is when Jesus, the Anointed One, who was expected by the Jews to come in waging war, emerging victorious, appears to be at His weakest, most human moment. Yet therein lies the beautiful sacrifice of our King! At any time He could have snapped His fingers, descended from the cross, and sent all around Him into the pit of Hell. Instead He chose to be in the muck of humanity, to take on every aspect of being human…even death…even a humiliating, public death. He nailed our sins to the cross and yet we struggle to even look at the scene. Our attention should certainly be on the crucifix, a constant reminder of our goal to climb up onto the cross with Him, our nuptial bed. If we truly want to be in union with Him, this means union in every way. As Catherine Doherty wrote, “Christ occupied one side of the cross—you must be crucified on the other side. From its height, you will get a first glimpse of the land of love.”

Now, it may seem that to venerate the cross the third Sunday of the Great Fast is a bit…premature. He won’t be crucified for nearly four more weeks! But as we sing during Matins this Sunday, “Today we have the joyous veneration of your life-giving Cross as a foretaste of your holy Passion, which you endure to save us, O Christ our God and almighty Savior.” So you could say this feast does something to whet our appetites, to really help us hunger to reach out and take Christ’s hand on the cross. Often, however, I view this feast as more of a reminder, a time to refocus on our goal. If any of you have ran a marathon, you’re familiar with “pacers.” These are the people who run the marathon at a much slower pace than they’re actually capable of running, holding up a sign with a time on it. If you stick with the “3:50” pacer, you’ll finish in 3:50, etc. In truth, though, I find the pacers real job to remain peppy, encouraging, and ever-optimistic. They strike up conversations with runners, cheer them on, and remind them of all the intense training they went through to prepare for this very moment. This is how I see the crucifix on the third Sunday of the Great Fast. I hear our Bridegroom calling down to me, “Keep it up! Run the race! Keep your gaze fixed on Me, purge yourself from sin, and we will forever be one.”  Then I get to respond to that call with a big old smooch and a renewed zeal to take on whatever cross He wishes for me to bear.

I encourage you all to gaze upon the crucifix today with new eyes. Examine our Savior’s face, touch His wounds, and fall in love. Let Him be your “pacer,” constantly calling you on to keep running the race. Know that He is the best of all pacers because He never leaves your side and always desires to whisper words of encouragement into your heart.

"And you will be called by a new name..."

Newsletter Reflection 4 of 6

A reflection from Sr. Emilia about her tonsure as a rasophore nun, Sept. 7, 2015

"And you will be called by a new name, which the mouth of the LORD will give" (Isaiah 62:2).

While on my retreat the week before I was tonsured and given the name Sr. Emilia, I realized that the theme of my retreat was “the Father’s gentle love.” As I prayed with Scripture, talked with my retreat director and sat in the presence of God the Father, allowing Him into wounds and areas of my heart I had never opened before, I began to be filled with healing and the awareness of how loved I am. A while before I left for retreat, I had to give Mother Theodora my three name requests and I struggled with deciding which one to choose as the third name. My heart greatly desired Emilia, but it was already my name because it was the name I took for my confirmation. I just couldn’t write it down…but oh, how desperately I loved that name! So I left it up to God. I prayed, “I took that name at confirmation, so if You want me to be Emilia, You have to tell me by inspiring Mother Theodora to choose it without me requesting it!” I wanted the Father to name me. He did!

Since my retreat, the Father has not ceased to show me His particular love for me. So many connections have arisen with the name Emilia. I chose it in eighth grade to honor my mom. She had died just months before I was confirmed, and that was the name she had chosen for my youngest sibling if he had been a girl. Secondly, I chose that name in eighth grade in honor of St. Emilia, the “Mother of Saints,” and also in honor of Pope St. John Paul II’s mom, whose name was Emilia. I love the connection of the name with motherhood, because I love children and a huge part of my heart is full of motherly love for them. The day of my tonsure, I also found out that Bishop John’s mom was also named Amelia. As he said my name for the first time, tears streamed down my face because of all of the ways this name has always been God’s name for me. A huge part of my retreat was about how motherhood will be fulfilled in my heart as a nun, and then I received that name and all of these motherhood connections haven’t ceased coming up. God spoke to my heart in a clear way the day of my tonsure, letting me know that He had chosen me years before and that I was His.

As I sat to write this article, I reflected on Bishop John’s homily from the tonsure. In his homily, he was talking about our tonsure and about motherhood. What he said touched my heart in a very special way: “It is truly a blessing for a bishop to receive two daughters, two spiritual daughters…Someday, I look forward to calling you ‘Mother’ and realizing how marvelous your vocation is to be not a biological mother, but in truth a mother, not circumventing nature, but expanding on it–expanding on your nature to indeed give life; give life to those who come to the monastery, who come to realize the glory of God.” He went on further to express that not every nun who makes the step into novitiate will necessarily conclude that step, but that we (the Church) hope and pray for each sister in formation, that God-willing she will become “Mother” someday.

“Ask the Father to speak your name. The Father can say your name like no one else. When the Resurrected Jesus said, ‘Mary,’ she recognized Him instantly. Listen for His voice. One whisper from the Father can change everything, just like it did for Mary” (Neal Lozano, Abba’s Heart).

Before we step into the desert

Today is the first day of the Great Fast, and in exactly one month from today I will turn 30, the age of Jesus when He began His public ministry. And before Jesus began this ministry, the Spirit led Him out into the desert for 40 days where He was tested by the devil. So as we begin the Great Fast, which commemorates in part these 40 days of Jesus in the desert, I am putting myself in the shoes (or sandals, I should say...) of the Son of God who came and put Himself in mine by taking on my human nature.

A friend pointed out to me recently that after Jesus was baptized and before He went out into the desert, He heard the voice of the Father saying, "You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased" (Lk 3:22). What consoling, strengthening words! In the devil's temptations of Jesus, he challenged Jesus' trust in the love of God the Father and of Jesus' identity as His Son. The Israelites were tested in the same way during their 40 years in the desert, but they failed in their trust in God. Jesus did not.

Jesus heard the Father's words of love and did not doubt them, and He remained faithful in the desert. If Jesus, the Son of God, needed to hear these words, how do I think that I can remain faithful to God without accepting these words? How can I step into the desert of the Great Fast, or even step any further into the desert of monastic life, if I do not pause and simply let God love me? If I continue to think that I have to earn God's love, that I have to do the right things in order to be pleasing to Him, or that I am not of priceless value just as a child of God, then how will I not succumb to all of the devil's temptations?

Before I can fast, I need to know God's love for me in a deeper way. Fasting is not what draws God's love to me; the poverty of my humanity and my existence as His child does that. Before we step out (or step further out) into the desert of Lent, let's give God a chance to speak these words to us in the unique way that He speaks to each of our hearts: "You are my beloved son (or daughter); with you I am well pleased." And then our fasting will open us even more to His love and mercy.

Mother Cecilia

"...For the children of the desolate one will be more..."

Newsletter Reflection 3 of 6

A Reflection from Mother Gabriella about her life profession on Nov. 8

A couple months ago, a priest-friend of mine joked about my upcoming life profession, saying, “Your name is going to be Mother soon!  I am going to call you ‘Mom’ – and I’m coming to YOU for spiritual direction!”  Thankfully he was only kidding, but his words did strike a chord in my heart.  It was true!  Soon I would be making my life profession and setting aside biological motherhood to fully embrace my vocation as a nun and spiritual mother of priests and of souls.

The more I reflected on spiritual motherhood, the more I felt confident that it was intimately connected with two other realities in my life – being a daughter of God the Father and a Bride of Christ.  I realized that I could not give myself fully to Christ without a deep knowledge of the Father’s love for me and that I would have no love to offer Jesus as my Spouse if I had not first received the love of the Father.  The gift of spiritual motherhood really seemed to flow from my relationship with the Father and my union with Christ as His Bride, and from this communion, I sensed a great potential for fruitfulness.

With her Goddaughter, Grace

In imitation of the Theotokos (Mary), I truly pondered all these things in my heart as I approached my profession day.  There is so much that could be said of such a momentous day, but the moment that will be forever engraved on my heart was when Bishop John placed my wedding ring on my finger.  Instantly, I knew in my heart that I had been espoused to Christ, which was beautiful and overwhelming all at once.  As I stood before our icon of Christ the Bridegroom, I was in awe.  Then another thought hit me – I would soon be receiving Jesus in the Eucharist and sealing the covenant of our union!  The spousal encounter of the Eucharist had never been more real to me than in the moments leading up to my first Eucharist as a fully-professed nun.  After receiving Jesus, I had a beautiful encounter with Him in the enclosed garden of my heart.  I knew immediately that our union during that time was going to bear fruit, but I figured it would be years before I would see it, if ever.

The rest of the evening was incredibly blessed, from the greeting line in the church to the beautiful reception where so many of our family and friends gathered to celebrate our profession.  As the evening came to a close, I had an opportunity to talk with some of my dear friends, a married couple, who had approached me with a question.  They have been married for several years and had trouble conceiving, but through God’s grace they are preparing to give birth to a boy early next year.  We stepped to the side and they took the opportunity to ask if I would be the godmother of their little boy!  My heart was elated!  Due to community constraints, I am not able to be the official godmother, but I assured them that I would be honored to be his spiritual godmother.  Then suddenly my eyes filled with tears – Jesus had shown me the fruit of our union!  This little boy, who had been conceived through much prayer and patience, was now conceived in my heart on my profession day!  I had a spiritual son!  Just as surely as I knew I was espoused to Christ, I knew that this little one was His gift to me.  God is never outdone in generosity.  Thanks be to God for the gift of my vocation and spiritual motherhood!

A Gaze of Merciful Love

A reflection for the Sunday of the Prodigal Son by Sr. Iliana

“And he arose and came to his father. But while he was yet at a distance, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him” (Luke 15:20).

On the last day of my pre-tonsure retreat, my director gave me one more assignment: to “go and review all that God had taught me during the retreat.” As I sat in the chapel and closed my eyes, I could see the image of the prodigal son and his father. At first I dismissed it because I had not prayed about this parable on the retreat, so I thought it would not be a good “review.” As hard as I tried though, I couldn’t shake the image, so I finally gave up and asked the Lord what He was trying to teach me. There were two things that struck me as I imagined the scene of the prodigal son. I noticed the father gazing at the road, waiting for a glimpse of his son, and I noticed the son turning around to return to his father. I would later realize that this story was the best review possible, since it summarized everything the Lord was teaching me about His mercy.

During the retreat I had given my life confession. I had told the priest everything I had ever done, and in response he told me that I was “innocent and pure.” I was shocked. I realized that somewhere in the back of my mind, in a place I had refused to look, I had never really believed that I had been forgiven. I felt pretty confident that I was absolved of my little weekly infidelities, but I thought that if the priest really knew everything I had ever done, that would be a different story. Yet here I had revealed everything I had ever done and I found a father who saw only innocence and purity. I had found a Father who ran to wrap me in an eternal embrace, who rejoiced at my coming, who saw my return, who saw only through the eyes of merciful love. I could suddenly see myself as the Father sees me – He doesn’t see my sin, all He sees is my return to Him. Even when I was still very far away, He saw me coming and already rejoiced and ran to embrace me.

The Sunday of the Prodigal Son is one of the preparatory Sundays for the Great Fast. Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia says, “Repentance is the door through which we enter Lent, the starting point of our journey to Pascha. And to repent signifies far more than self-pity or futile regret over things done in the past. The Greek term metanoia means ‘change of mind’…repentance implies action: ‘I will rise up and go.’” The word conversion comes from the Latin convertere, which means to turn towards. There is something significant just in that action of turning around, of rising up and going towards the Father.

Pope St. John Paul II said, “From [Christ] we must learn the loving gaze with which he reconciled men with the Father and with themselves, communicating to them that power which alone is able to heal the whole person”(Orientale Lumen). I had always longed to “feel” forgiven, as I was sure the prodigal son had felt forgiven when the father embraced him, but soon I realized that the forgiveness was not in the embrace, but long before. The forgiveness was in his gaze. That’s what made the father run. Living in the knowledge of His loving gaze brought incredible healing to my soul. In the Great Canon of St. Andrew of Crete we sing, “You see me weeping and You run to meet me, like the Father toward his Prodigal Son.”

"For the sake of the joy that was set before Him He endured the cross"

Happy Feast of St. Anthony of the Desert and First Sunday of the Triodion: the Sunday of the Publican & the Pharisee! 

Newsletter Reflection 2 of 6

A Reflection from Mother Cecilia about her Profession on Nov. 8

After our profession, Sr. Iliana commented to me, “At the beginning of the profession you were very serious, but at a certain point you were suddenly smiley and didn’t stop smiling!”  I knew exactly what she was talking about.  As I stood before the bishop and responded to each of his questions, “Yes, Master, with God’s help,” I felt the weight of these life-long promises I was making.  Then the bishop began to read to us the catechesis that follows his questions. These instructions, too, are very serious.  But then the bishop said the following words, and everything changed in my heart:

“Always be sensible and mature, ever inspired by the vision of the good things of eternity, which are the desire of everyone who lives for God.  Think of the martyrs and all the holy ones who have pleased God since the world began; think of their sweat and labor, of the blood they shed, and how they obtained these eternal riches only through death.  Endure difficulties as a loyal soldier of Christ, for because of us He became poor, and dwelt in our midst so that we might share the riches of His Kingdom.” 

At that moment, God held out the Kingdom to me. I understood its immense joy, both in the next life and in this life, for “the Kingdom of God is within you” (Lk 17:21). I wanted to give everything—my whole life and my whole being—to receive this Kingdom. I wanted to sacrifice everything to live for this Kingdom, not only for myself but in order to draw the whole world into it as well.  I wanted to give myself totally to the One who was offering Himself to me. I did, as best as I could, and I was filled with incredible joy.

It is monastic tradition to remain in the monastery chapel for five days after the profession, “resting from all work, except reading, and abiding in spiritual contemplation and mental prayer.”  When this profound experience of union with my Bridegroom was completed, the first piece of news I heard was about the attacks in Paris.  For the first time in my life, it occurred to me that I might be called to be a “red” martyr—to literally shed my blood for Jesus.  I realized that the “white” martyrdom of monastic life is training for that.  Each day as we “die” to ourselves in the little moments, setting aside our own wills and desires for love of God and others, we are preparing to give the bigger offering of our lives.

When I came out of my five-day retreat, or “honeymoon,” I also experienced another reality: I really felt like a mother!  I instantly received a great motherly concern and tender love for every person, all of whom are my spiritual children.  Monastic life makes even more sense to me from the vantage point of a mother.  A mother sets herself aside for her children. She “dies daily” (1 Cor 15:31) for them, and this is her great joy.

Martyrs and mothers teach me so much, but it is ultimately Jesus, my Bridegroom, who will help me to die for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven.  Just as God held out the Kingdom to me during my profession, the writer of the letter to the Hebrews says, “For the sake of the joy that was set before Him He endured the cross…” (12:2). Jesus’ infinite love compelled Him to run to the cross, and it is only by transforming me into this love that I will be able to be the offering of love that I vowed to be.