Justice (?)

Bernie Madoff was jailed today. He'll be imprisoned the rest of his life.

The reporters I heard discussing it seemed disappointed that he pleaded guilty, as though they would rather have seen the man torn to shreds in a trial. What if he had been? What if he had even been sentenced to hard labor and then execution? What would have been accomplished? His victims' anger would have been somewhat more indulged. But what kind of recompense is that for his victims - momentary emotional gratification instead of financial reimbursement? Their life savings are still gone. They cannot now retire. They are looking at a lifetime sentence of their own: poverty. There are still charities that now cannot perform their services, because their money is gone.

Is this justice? Well, it's as near to it as human systems can provide, probably. God's justice, though, is orders of magnitude greater than this, and why? Because He is able to do what our justice cannot, and that is to make the victims whole again. He really does, in the end, set everything to rights. He restores everything to the way it ought to be, was created to be. He makes everything perfect.

What if Bernie Madoff's victims had everything made perfect again for them? What if they had all their money back, with all the appropriate interest and dividends? What if, besides that, their lives were made beautiful and perfect in every other way as well, so that they walked in peace, rejoiced in love, and gave incessant thanks to God? Then what would they want done with Bernie Madoff? Then it wouldn't matter nearly so much, would it? Because they would have their justice, true justice, in any case.

God's justice doesn't require punishment (in the sense of getting even) for anybody. In fact, in God's justice, the optimum outcome is, Bernie Madoff repents and everybody forgives him (not necessarily in that order!) and we all live happily together forever after. Christ died for many reasons (which I discussed in a 19-part series of posts last summer) but not among these reasons is that God had some emotional or legal need to retaliate. He doesn't, because as Bernie Madoff clearly shows us, wrong cannot really be corrected by punishing the malefactor; wrong is corrected by being replaced with right.

Iconoclasm

Yesterday we celebrated the end of the heresy of Iconoclasm. After centuries of controversy and debate, the Church put this bitter issue to rest, supposedly once and for all, declaring in Ecumenical Council that to kiss an icon or bow before it or carry it in procession is not worship. Not worship. NOT. And icons were to be restored, the official decree mandated, to churches lacking them.

The Church resolved this question, folks, in the year 843! So why are some people still scandalized about kissing an icon, or bowing before it, or carrying it aloft in processions? Why is this controversy, this officially condemned heresy, still alive and well today? Are people ignorant of history? Or do they think they know better than an Ecumenical Council? What is it?

Ero

Our sweet, darling Ero (ee-ROH) is dying. Her family has gathered from as far away as California. The nurses are making her as comfortable as possible, which isn't very. Ero can hardly speak, but never utters a complaint. Of course, she has never been heard, ever, to complain about anything.

Ero also could never bear to hear evil spoken about anyone. She would always get tears in her eyes and say, "Oh, please..." and jump to that person's defense. "Maybe she wasn't herself that day," or, "Maybe he didn't understand..."

Her husband, Matthew, 80, has frequently said he doesn't know how she has put up with him all these years. I don't know what he will do without her. I don't know how the world can spare her.

And I don't know why I didn't spend more time in her blessed company. Maybe I could have learned some of her sweetness, gentleness, moral courage, for the inner feats she has performed are fully equal to those of many a great saint. What a fool I am to have squandered that opportunity! (Well, there are still some saints in this town, and I do not intend to make the same mistake any more. God helping me, I shall take fullest advantage of their presence, and be around them as much as I can.)

Ero has well loved everybody, even those who constituted a test very few other people passed.

Ero has also prayed for my sister, Barbara, every day for years and years. It's so horrid to see her suffering this.

This isn't Ero's first bout with cancer. But she recovered from her colon cancer. Seemingly, I suppose I should say now. I remember when she first came back to church after that, about 15 years ago; it was the Sunday of Orthodoxy, just as yesterday was, when many, many icons are carried around the church in procession, together with the Cross, and candles, and the Book of the Gospels. I was right in front of Ero, and everybody was kneeling, and as the Cross came by, I heard Ero whisper, "Eucharisto!" ("Thank You!") and I cried.

Book Confessions Meme

Emily tagged me for this one...

1. To mark your page you: use a bookmark, bend the page corner, leave the book open face down?
I always use a bookmark. Years ago, I made several, by putting lengths of assorted ribbons inside sheet protectors. You place a dish towel over the sheet protector and iron it. The sides of the page protector then sort of meld together. Cut out the ribbons using a straight edge and a razor knife, and voila, bookmarks.

2. Do you lend your books?
Never. I buy copies for people who may want to read them.

3. You find an interesting passage: you write in your book or NO WRITING IN BOOKS!
I write in certain books, usually paperbacks, usually devotional or theological books.

4. Dust jackets - leave it on or take it off.
Ditto Emily's response:
I take it off while I'm reading the book. I wouldn't want the dust jacket to get scuffed up.

5. Hard cover, paperback, skip it and get the audio book?
Hard cover. Paperback for a second choice.(Emily's words again)

6. Do you shelve your books by subject, author, or size and color of the book spines?
Whatever arrangement fits on my limited shelf space. We have tons of book cases, but most of them are occupied by Demetrios' extensive library, and most of those are medical. Within space constraints, I group by subject.

7. Buy it or borrow it from the library later?
Buy it. I've gotten out of that excellent habit of visiting libraries.

8. Do you put your name on your books - scribble your name in the cover, fancy bookplate, or stamp?
What for? I already know the book is mine. My address book/day planner is the only book bearing my name, in case it should be lost.

9. Most of the books you own are rare and out of print books or recent publications?
I have an Anglican/English Book of Common Prayer old enough to include prayers for Queen Victoria, and my Third Great-Grandmother's Gaelic Bible, and a couple of other antique books, but no more than half a dozen.

10. Page edges - deckled or straight?
Straight.

11. How many books do you read at one time?
Usually two, sometimes three.

12. Be honest, ever tear a page from a book? Once. I carefully cut (did not tear!) a color plate of a wonderful icon of St. Demetrios from an illustrated book of icons. I had the St. Demetrios framed to give to my husband on his feast day.

If you are reading this, you are TAGGED!

The Black Cat

In The Story of Webster, by that incomparable humorist, P.G. Wodehouse, a young, bohemian painter inherits a black cat named Webster who sits around looking at him with such disapproval that the artist very nearly has to give up his dissolute lifestyle. Much to the alarm of his friends and fianceé, he starts shaving in the middle of the week, in fact, every morning, and wearing blue serge suits “with creases down the trouser-legs” and reading a book of etiquette. He gives up cigars and is very nearly at the point of having to give up drinking, too, being saved from this disaster only at the last moment when – well, you should read the story yourself. My point is, this young man was projecting his conscience onto Webster the cat. And that’s how we in the West tend to feel about our conscience, too. (Okay, I’m speaking for myself, but I say “we” supposing I’m not all that different from other folks.) We tend to feel as if our conscience were something dark and shadowy, always watching us. We can make it purr if we are very careful to keep doing everything as we ought. Otherwise, most of the time, the conscience is like that black cat, sitting there watching, staring, looking at us – with disapproval. Sometimes one even feels God is rather like that. He’s eyeing you with disapproval and waiting for you to do better.

But no, no, no, a thousand times no! God is neither like some black panther prowling at your elbow nor like some dread reckoning you are eventually going to have to face, but you’d rather put it off as long as possible. That is not Who God is; that is Who our sins paint Him as in our minds, with the devil’s own paintbrush. You don’t have to kick yourself first to get to God. Repentance doesn’t mean feeling rotten about yourself; it means turning to embrace what, or rather, Who, is right there beside you, waiting for you, always open to you; namely, pure Love that holds no grudge, pure Goodness, Kindness, Understanding, Joy. The Christian God, in short, is like the father of the Prodigal Son.

No, you don’t want to put off repentance, because our God is beautiful and is your freedom.

Oh, and the reckoning, and the feeling rotten about yourself? That will come, but by the time it does, you won’t mind – far from it! – because you’ll be doing your weeping from your safe haven within the arms of your all-compassionate God. You’ll weep even as Hope swaddles you with Joy, and the tears will not be bitter, but somehow, miraculously, very sweet.

Linda's Amazing, Magical Purse

Did you forget your pen, and now you need one, and a piece of paper to write somebody a note? Just ask Linda; she carries those in her handbag, along with some tape so you can leave the note on the door.

Has some strong emotion suddenly seized you, and you find yourself weepy and runny-nosed without a Kleenex? Linda will give you one. Or two, or three...

Have you a headache? Linda carries both aspirin and acetomeniphen in her bag.

Have you split your trousers, popped a button, or discovered your hem hanging down? Linda will hand you a small sewing kit, complete with scissors and thimble, needles and thread.

Have you cut your finger, skinned your knee? Linda has bandaids in her purse, and antiseptic cream, too.

Do you need change for a dollar, or for five dollars? Linda comes prepared to supply it to you.

Whether it's a paper clip, measuring tape, rubber band, hand mirror, postage stamp, or safety pin, Linda carries it in her handbag, just for you, in case you may ever need it.

Linda is a unique sort of a saint.

Wild Baby Shower

Our wildlife rehabilitators' organization, ARK, held its main fund-raiser today, the annual Wild Baby Shower. We took in approximately $1400, all of which will be needed, and more.

We had refreshments, door prizes, face painting for children, presentations featuring our education animals, in this case owls, oppossums, and squirrels. We had a silent auction, an information corner, a gift shop, a craft table.

Here are some fun photos. As usual, click on any picture you want to enlarge. (The owl pictures are really cool enlarged!)

Malinda and Kim Give a Presentation on the Barred Owl. Behind Malinda, in Green Shirt, is Joy with a Screech Owl, Difficult to See

Close-up of Grace, the Barred Owl, on Malinda's arm

Joyce Worked the Refreshment Table

Kim Gives Presentation with Amber, the Blind Great Horned Owl

The Woodland Fairy (Kelly) Handed out Lollipops to Children

Goodie (left) and Angela work the "Gift Shop"

Information Corner: All About ARK

Information Corner: What to do if You Find Wildlife

Akathist

To Our Most Holy Lady, the Mother of God

An "akathistos hymnos" is a hymn during which, for reverence, we do not sit down.


On Friday nights in Lent, we gather and, in fulfillment of her prophecy, call the Mother of God blessed -- in scores of ways, no, hundreds of ways, as many ways as poetry can devise. Here are a few.

Rejoice, thou through whom joy will flash forth!
Rejoice, thou through whom the curse will cease!
Rejoice, revival of fallen Adam!
Rejoice, redemption of the tears of Eve!
Rejoice, height hard to climb for human thoughts!
Rejoice, depth hard to contemplate even for the eyes of Angels!
Rejoice, thou who art the King's throne!
Rejoice, thou who bearest Him Who bears all!
Rejoice, star that causest the Sun to appear!
Rejoice, womb of the divine incarnation!
Rejoice, thou through whom creation becomes new!
Rejoice, thou through whom the Creator becomes a babe!
Rejoice, unwedded Bride!

Rejoice, initiate of God's ineffable will!
Rejoice, prelude of Christ's miracles!
Rejoice, crown of His dogmas!
Rejoice, heavenly ladder by which God came down!
Rejoice, bridge that conveys us from earth to heaven!
Rejoice, wonder of angels blazed abroad!
Rejoice, wound of demons bewailed afar!
Rejoice, thou who ineffably gavest birth to the Light!
Rejoice, unwedded Bride!

Rejoice, scion of an undying Shoot!
Rejoice, field of untainted fruit!
Rejoice, thou who laborest for Him Whose labor is love!
Rejoice, thou who givest birth to the Father of our life!
Rejoice, cornland yielding a rich crop of mercies!
Rejoice, table bearing a wealth of forgiveness!
Rejoice, thou who revivest the garden of delight!
Rejoice, thou who preparest a haven for souls!
Rejoice, unwedded Bride!

Rejoice, mother of the never-setting Star!
Rejoice, dawn of the mystic Day!
Rejoice, thou who didst extinguish the furnace of error!
Rejoice, thou who didst enlighten the initiates of the Trinity!
Rejoice, thou who didst banish from power the inhuman tyrant!
Rejoice, thou who hast shown us Christ as the Lord and Lover of men!
Rejoice, thou who dost drag from the mire of works!
Rejoice, thou who hast stopped the worship of fire!
Rejoice, thou who hast quenched the flame of the passions!
Rejoice, guide of the faithful to chastity!
Rejoice, joy of all generations!
Rejoice, thou from whom flows milk and honey!
Rejoice, unwedded Bride!

Rejoice, flower of incorruption!
Rejoice, crown of continence!
Rejoice, flashing symbol of the resurrection!
Rejoice, mirror of the life of the Angels!
Rejoice, tree of glorious fruit by which the faithful are nourished!
Rejoice, bush of shady leaves by which many are sheltered!
Rejoice, thou who bearest the Guide of those astray!
Rejoice, thou who givest birth to the Redeemer of captives!
Rejoice, pleader before the Just Judge!
Rejoice, unwedded Bride!

Rejoice, door of solemn mystery!
Rejoice, doubtful report of unbelievers!
Rejoice, undoubted boast of the faithful!
Rejoice, all-holy chariot of Him Who rides on the Cherubim!
Rejoice, all-glorious temple of Him Who is above the Seraphim!
Rejoice, thou who hast united opposites!
Rejoice, thou who hast joined virginity and motherhood!
Rejoice, thou through whom sin has been absolved!
Rejoice, thou through whom Paradise is opened!
Rejoice, unwedded Bride!

That Raven

Here is a satire my great-grandfather, Joseph Bert Smiley, wrote upon Edgar Allen Poe's poem, The Raven. It's a little something my family has always enjoyed. I suppose it's our other favorite of his, along with St. Peter at the Gate.

Joseph Bert Smiley

(Click here if you need to refresh your memory of the original poem, because otherwise you won't be able to appreciate this spoof of it.)

Poe's Raven

How distinctly I remember, late one evening
last November,
I was sitting on a barrel that the moonlight gloated o’er –
‘Twas an empty cider barrel and was useful
now no more –
Worthless, now, forevermore.

As a few lone stars were blinking, I betook myself to thinking,
And I thought of that old raven Edgar Poe has told about –
That was quite a high old raven Mr. Poe has told about.
I kept thinking, thinking, thinking, as those
stars kept blinking, blinking,
And the more I thought about it, I was more
and more in doubt;
Edgar’s logic knocked me out.

And I found no explanation to that curious situation –
Here’s the lamp upon the table, and the raven
on the door,
And the lamplight o’er him streaming threw
his shadow on the floor.
Think of where the lamp was sitting and
you cannot help admitting
‘Twas an awful crooked shadow to have ever reached the floor.
‘Twas a hump-backed, cross-eyed shadow if it
ever saw the floor.

So I sought a clear solution to that shadow’s
dire confusion,
And my only strong conclusion was that Edgar
had the snakes.
I am sure he had been drinking
and must have had the snakes.
So perhaps the raven, sitting on the cornice,
never flitting,
With its fiery eyes a-burning into Edgar’s
bosom core
Was the whiskey he’d been drinking just before
he fell to thinking
Of his lovely lost Lenore.
It was bug-juice, evermore.

Or perhaps the maiden, deeming such a fellow
too demeaning,
Had preferred to share the fortunes of the
friends who’d gone before,
And had perished, broken-hearted, as fair
maids have done before.
Maybe he disgraced and slighted till she felt
her life was blighted
And her lonely soul, benighted, wandered to
a fairer shore.
Maybe Edgar’s drinking killed her, as it has
killed girls before.
It was benzene, evermore.

Get most anybody frisky on a quart or two
of whiskey,
And he’d think he saw some shadows, or some
ravens, or some floors,
And the lamps would get befuddled, and the
shadows awful muddled,
And he’d see one crazy raven perched on
forty-‘leven doors;
And he wouldn’t know a shutter from a dozen
lost Lenores.

It is my profound opinion that if Poe had
kept dominion
O’er his brains and o’er his reason, as they
used to be of yore, –
That if he had been less frisky and had guzzled
down less whiskey
He’d have never seen that raven on the bust
above his door.
Very likely that same evening he’d been
on a bust before
And got sober – nevermore.

Edgar Allen Poe

Another Memory

It was at a family gathering at the Outer Banks, going on ten years now. We sat around listening to some of Barbara's stories about being a veterinarian, and the various kinds of animals she had treated. We noticed she wasn't taking any wine. Wendy, I think it was, bought her a pregnancy test, more or less as a joke.

Next morning, very early, we were all awakened by shouts and whoops of joy: "I'm pregnant, I'm pregnant!"

We put Madison, then three, on the phone to relay the good news to her father. "Daddy," she said, "Mommy has a baby."

There was a longish pause and then Madison turned to Barbara. "Daddy wants to know what kind of a baby."

In Memoriam

Today is the one-year anniversary of the death of my sister, Barbara.

When we say, “Memory eternal!” we of course mean, “May God remember her forever in His kingdom.” But I have some different sorts of memories I am going to spend today pondering.

I’m remembering how she and Wendy and I used to play Catch the Wave in the ocean. You stand at about neck deep in the water, or just a bit deeper, and wait for the next wave. You take turns calling out how everybody is to meet that wave. You shout, “Duck!” or “Jump!” or “Feet first!” which means you float on your back facing the wave. The bigger the waves, the more fun. Once we played this a couple of days after a hurricane had blown through, and the waves were terrific! So was the seaweed; the ocean seemed clogged with it. We put it in our hair and said we were mermaids. Or sea monsters. That seaweed left red welts on us, too. (Do not picture little girls here, but middle-aged women.)

I’m remembering our Great Needle Swap. We met for a weekend at Mom and Dad’s house and each brought all our knitting supplies, plus projects. Barbara and I sorted everything, made sure each of us, including Mom, had whatever needles and other supplies she wanted, and organized our knitting totes. And knitted, of course. It was such fun.

Barbara sitting on the Floor, Sorting Knitting Needles

I’m remembering the night I stayed up with her when she was in the Intensive Care Unit. I copied a Sudoku puzzle from a book onto the white board in front of her bed, and we worked it together.

I’m remembering a night I called her at the nursing home and asked her how she was. She said, “I’m all ready to go to sleep. I’m in my jammies, I have my warm milk and Oreo cookies, and it’s time for my bedtime story.”

“Warm milk and Oreos!”

“Well, that part is imaginary, of course.”

But we decided the part about a bedtime story shouldn’t be, so I read her one. I think it was a Winnie-the-Pooh story. And from then on, I would call her every night at 8:00 and read her a bedtime story, until she became too weak to hold the telephone. She requested the Uncle Remus stories, which Dad used to read to us when we were small. (Those are the stories upon which is based the Disney movie, “Song of the South”.)

I’m remembering how, as a lonely nine-year-old, I longed and prayed for a baby sister. Well, I already had a wonderful sister, Wendy, but she and Mike, being only 13 months apart in age, might as well have been twins. I was the odd man out. So every day I prayed for a baby sister. One day it occurred to me that my petition ought to be addressed to my mother as well as to God. Mom said, “We already have three children, and we think that’s enough.”

But I kept praying and one day she called me into her room and said, “Put your hand right here,” so I laid it on her “stomach” and felt something move. “What’s that?” I asked, startled.

“That’s a baby inside me.”

I burst into joyous, grateful tears and went running into my room. Mom came running after me, calling, “What’s wrong, what's wrong? I thought you’d be happy!”

“Oh, I am, I am!”

It was going to be a boy. His name was going to be Christopher Robin, as in Pooh’s friend. I said it was not a boy; it was my sister. Still, we didn’t have a girl name picked out. So when she was born, Mom named her after herself, Barbara.

Can you imagine the effect all this had upon a (by then) ten-year-old soul?

I remember the day I realized that what God had given to me, I must offer back to Him, with sorrow, yes, but still with gratitude, too, and faith that He knows and does best.

And I shall always remember the grace and dignity with which she bore all her many sufferings, and I shall say to myself, if my baby sister could get through these, and do it so well, perhaps I can, too, because she has shown it to be doable. Do come with the angels to receive me, dear Barbara, when my turn comes!

Faith

Please take a few moments to read Fr. Stephen and Vladimir Lossky on what faith is. Do this especially if you are not a believer. Do it also if for you faith is central to everything. It's too important a topic not to read this.

A Very White Day

My neighbor, Frances, sent these a few minutes ago, taken from her back window. (You who live in snowy areas just don't know how big a deal this is for us.)

Power is out in some neighborhoods, adding to the adventure, so I checked on my friends in those neighborhoods. Anita has a fire going, over which she cooked her lunch. She is all set up with battery powered table lights, radio, everything. She's wearing a fur coat for when she leaves the room where the fireplace is. Vada is wearing a pantsuit with her pajamas under them to keep warm, and two sweaters. Her nephew, a licensed electrician, is hooking up her generator for her, and her neighbors are keeping an eye out for her as well, so she will be okay.

White!

Today is totally white. The snow began about 5:00 yesterday evening and just kept coming. When we woke up this morning, white was all we could see. The sky, the ground, the snow-filled air, the tree branches, everything white. Even vertical surfaces, such as tree trunks and fences, are coated in white. The white stuff on the ground is up to a foot deep. Now the sun is peeping out here ane there, adding sparkle.

This is the first snow (to speak of) we've had in years. Nobody quite knows what to do with it. Last night, everybody left porch lights on until late, the better to see it. Last night, we all just huddled in our houses. This morning, very few people are out and about.

We had breakfast in the sunroom, surrounded by the falling snow and the white, swaying branches.

Demetrios couldn't get his car door open, so after having spent 20 minutes digging out his car, he spent another half hour digging out mine. I hope he will arrive safely at work, and safely home again.

The girls next door are out in their back yard, running through the snow, trying to get it to stick together to make snowballs, shrieking (which is half the fun). Their dog, Josie, an oversized Yellow Lab - Great Dane mix, is jumping with huge delight through the snow, carrying a snow-covered stick in her mouth that came down in the strong winds last night.

No doubt scores of squirrel nests came down last night, too. But there's little chance many babies survived. I'm glad all my squirrels (and I) are safe and warm.

An apprentice wildlife rehabber named Caitlin is working with me now. She probably won't come today. I'll probably miss my doctor appointment, too.

I think I'll spend whatever free time I have today in the sun room. I'll bring my laptop there, fold laundry there, knit in there, read in there, whatever.

UPDATE: 12:40 p.m. I can't believe it! The snow is still coming down, fast and furious. The good part is, two volunteers have been by twice now on tractors with snowplows. People who absolutely need to get out can.

Forgiveness Sunday

Dear Brothers and Sisters, in Christ or not,

Please forgive me all the offenses I have committed in the last year against you, the times I've been too strident, too flippant, too pesky, etc. etc. etc. Please know it was unintentional and I shall strive to be more careful, as well as kinder and more considerate.