Great and Holy Friday

Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung on the tree,
The King of the angels is decked with a crown of thorns.
He who wraps the heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.
He who freed Adam in the Jordan is slapped on the face.
The Bridegroom of the Church is affixed to the Cross with nails.
The Son of the virgin is pierced by a spear.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
We worship Thy passion, O Christ.
Show us also Thy glorious resurrection.

15th Antiphon, Great and Holy Friday Orthros

I am in touch with my emotions, but I am not given to sentimentalism. That is why I was stunned when, on hearing the above hymn for the first time in 1996, I found myself sobbing. This evening, as I knelt in a darkened church with tears running down my face, I tried to articulate the reason for this very out of character response. Here's what I came up with. (It may seem rather abstract, but that's the way I interact with the world.)

The crucifixion of Christ is much more than the execution of a failed insurrectionist. Mel Gibson's movie did a great job of showing the gory details of a Roman crucifixion, but as ghastly as it was, such atrocities have been part of the human experience up to this day. If the gore in The Passion of the Christ bothered you, you likely don't follow international news. Yes, it's horrible, but it happens every day to men, women, and children -- innocent people who love their families (and are loved by them) are brutally snuffed out of existence. This is the world we live in. What makes the death of Christ different for me is hinted at in the hymn. The source of Life is killed. The ordering principle (Logos) of all creation is erased. Meaning is extinguished, the abyss of nihilism gazes into each human heart.

The insane man jumped into their midst and transfixed them with his glances. "Where is God gone?" he called out. "I mean to tell you! We have killed him, you and I! We are all his murderers! But how have we done it? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the whole horizon? What did we do when we loosened this earth from its sun? Whither does it now move? Whither do we move? Away from all suns? Do we not dash on unceasingly? Backwards, sideways, forwards, in all directions? Is there still an above and below? Do we not stray, as through infinite nothingness? Does not empty space breathe upon us? Has it not become colder? Does not night come on continually, darker and darker? ... God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How shall we console ourselves, the most murderous of all murderers? The holiest and the mightiest that the world has hitherto possessed, has bled to death under our knife - who will wipe the blood from us?

-Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science

What makes this hymn on this day tolerable is the final line. Show us also Thy glorious resurrection. It points beyond death and despair. In just a few more days, we will be celebrating Christ's victory over hades, the fact that He has trampled down Death by death. I'll conclude with a few lines from the Paschal Homily (Hieratikon) of St John Chrysostom:

Let no one fear death, for the Savior’s death has set us free. He that was held prisoner of it has annihilated it. By descending into Hell, He made Hell captive. He embittered it when it tasted of His flesh. And Isaiah, foretelling this, did cry: Hell, said he, was embittered, when it encountered Thee in the lower regions. It was embittered, for it was abolished. It was embittered, for it was mocked. It was embittered, for it was slain. It was embittered, for it was overthrown. It was embittered, for it was fettered in chains. It took a body, and met God face to face. It took earth, and encountered Heaven. It took that which was seen, and fell upon the unseen. O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are overthrown. Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life reigns.

a short jaunt

Today we got up to -12 C in the sunshine, with a slight breeze out of the
west. While I don't expect to ever -- EVER -- encounter temperatures like
this on the great trek to Jerusalem, I thought today would be a good day
to do a live test of my layering system.

The results were encouraging. It took me 40 minutes to walk 4 km, so I
was moving at a good pace, especially considering the slush, snow, and ice
that was covering the sidewalks most of the way. The tip of my nose got a
little cold because I can't cover it without having my glasses completely
fog up, my arms felt a slight chill, but my core was actually a little too
warm. (Too warm in the winter is just as dangerous as too cold, since
once most clothing gets damp from sweat it loses a lot of its insulating
qualities.) Next time I'll leave the insulated vest at home and add an
extra long-sleeved layer.

Forgiveness Sunday

There is a great write-up about this Sunday at goarch.org. A much shorter version was posted to Facebook by Dcn. David B. Keim, who wrote:

Forgive me, a sinner. Forgive me because I am a sinner. Because I am connected to creation and, thus, my sins contribute to the fracturing of it. Because the evil I introduce into the world affects you. Because there is no such thing as private sins. Because my sins – even the ones not aimed at you and that you will never know about – are, therefore, sins against you. For all that: forgive me, a sinner.

And so, whoever finds themselves reading this, please forgive me.

"Four of the most powerful words in the world"

I came across this article yesterday after someone drew my attention to it. Although the specifics of the journey differ, it reminds me both of my pre-Camino post easy yokes and light burdens and my actual experience on the Camino. It was encouraging to read considering the not insignificant trek I'm preparing for. The conclusion of the article is worth quoting in full here:

The ready generosity of strangers has been the most important lesson he’s taken from his travels, says [veteran travel writer Don] George, who edited an anthology called The Kindness of Strangers for Lonely Planet Publications.

“It’s been probably the single greatest revelation I’ve had as a traveller . . . that basically the world is full of kindness,” he says. “If you get into trouble somewhere and you say to somebody ‘I need help’ . . . wow! the whole village comes out to help you and take care of you and I’ve found that time and time again. I think, ‘Can you help me?’ are four of the most powerful words in the world.”

18 km closer to Jerusalem

The other day, I met up with a friend in Toronto and we went for an 18 km walk through his part of town. This was the first of many such walks we will be taking in the next ten months, and they're leading up to a pilgrimage to Jerusalem for Pascha in 2015.

I mentioned ten months, since our plan is to start walking to Jerusalem from England. We'll arrive in London shortly after the feast of the Cross in September and walk down to Canterbury, thereby retracing the late medieval pilgrimage made (in)famous by Chaucer.

From Canterbury we'll walk the Via Francigena to Rome, arriving sometime in mid-December. Although it would be nice to experience Christmas in the Eternal City, we'll still be less than half way to our goal. At this point, we'll have walked some 2000 km and will seek a pilgrim's Testimonium from the Vatican. We'll probably need to replace our shoes once we reach Rome, and there may even be a few sites worth visiting while we're here.

From Rome, our next destination will be Bari, where we'll pay our respects to St. Nicholas after about three weeks of walking.

From Bari, we'll hop a ferry to Durrës where we'll pick up the Via Egnatia through the Balkans to İstanbul. I spent ten days in this magnificent city in 2006, and I look forward to spending a few more!

When I first started playing with the idea of this great trek shortly after completing the Camino de Santiago, I'd hoped to walk through Turkey into Syria and then into Lebanon as far south as Beirut. From Beirut I'd have headed east again to Damascus and then through Jordan so that the last section of the journey would have been walking west to Jerusalem.

Clearly, this is no longer feasible. Instead, I'll retrace the route recorded by Brandon Wilson in Along the Templar Trail. This will bring us to the port city of Alanya, Turkey. From there, it's a ferry ride to Northern Cyprus and then a walk across the island to Limassol, Republic of Cyprus. From Limassol, we'll take our fourth and final ferry to Haifa, whence it is an eight day walk to Jerusalem. The Confraternity of Pilgrims to Jerusalem have great information covering this part of our journey.

In the next ten months, I need to get back in shape, learn Turkish, set up a new WordPress blog, and save some money. Yes, I'm excited!