Finishing The Course

It was a gray, chilly evening in October of 1999, and my husband and I stood at the threshold of the Eastern Orthodox Church. Literally. Positioned at the entrance of Holy Trinity Cathedral on Leavitt Street in Chicago, we were attended by Fr. Joseph, a black robed, heavily bearded priest and an impressive figure who I would have sworn was a transplant straight from "Holy Russia." (We later found out that he was an ex-Lutheran from Ohio.) On this night, following a series of professions, we would officially be recognized as catechumens in the Orthodox Church. After asking us our full names, (yes, mine is really just Beth), Fr. Joseph authoritatively and I believe prophetically declared, "You are now Elizabeth after the mother of St. John the Baptist." In less than twenty minutes, prayers were offered on our behalf; the devil exorcised and spit upon (once again, literally); the Nicene Creed professed; and a series of "Lord have mercies," chanted by the choir. Behind me stood two figures that I remember: my dear friend Molly who would later serve as my sponsor and His Grace, then Bishop JOB. While there is little else I recall about this particular evening, I do remember receiving Bishop JOB's blessing at the conclusion of the service. Meeting at the rear of the cathedral, near the icon of the priest-martyr and individual primarily responsible for the construction of the building in which I now stood, St. John of Chicago, Bishop JOB quoting from the Psalms, raised his right hand and bestowed his blessing upon me and my bowed head, "May the Lord God bless you from Zion. May you see the good things of Jerusalem all the days of your life."

Last Friday, as I was cutting up pieces of fudge and crafting packages to be sent later that day to our precious friends in Chesterton and Indianapolis, the phone rang. Our family was in a bit of a rush, attempting to get on the road for a journey to Pontiac, Illinois, for a visit with my father-in-law. I let the machine pick it up. On the other end of the receiver was a friend and former parishoner from our church in Chicago now living in New York. Bad news clung to his voice; instantly I knew someone had died. "An hour and a half ago," Steve related, "Archbishop JOB died unexpectedly while on route back to Chicago from Ohio."

It was another gray, chilly day as we pulled our van up to the Archbishop's chapel and our former parish, Christ the Savior, last Monday afternoon. With an assortment of people, friends and strangers, we awaited the arrival of the Archbishop. And in typical Orthodox fashion, he was late - held up in traffic. After nearly a half hour, word began to spread in hushed whispers that Archbishop JOB was home. An awed silence permeated the sacred space until black robed clergy and Metropolitan JONAH entered the temple singing "Holy God" and bearing the body of our beloved Vladyka into his own chapel. As his coffin was censed, the lid was opened and Archbishop JOB received his crown on his head and his familiar purple vestment initialed in gold at his feet. His cross was placed in his right hand. Prayers were offered; "Lord have mercies" chanted; and then the official visitation. As my youngest son and I stood at the body of Archbishop JOB, we paused, prayed, bowed our heads, kissing the cross and the Archbishop's right hand for a final blessing.

There is much I could tell you about Archbishop JOB. He was a caring, compassionate, generous individual committed to the truth even when it made him unpopular. He loved children and, like His Lord, never wanted the little ones pushed aside. And sensing his genuineness and love, children loved him right back. He was down-to-earth, never one to flaunt his authority or the power that came with it, but always leading His flock as a true Shepherd by serving them. He was wise and his words, I believe, inspired, always encouraging those around him to love first and not allow zeal or lethargy to take hold of them. "Be grateful for where you came from," he would relate to converts. Do not harbor animosity towards your former religious background for that is not Orthodoxy, not the way of Christ. Go to the work parties or the parties held by non-Orthodox friends, he urged, even during the periods of fasting, and enjoy them. Just don't wind up being the one with "the lamp shade on your head." Glory in the incense, the icons, the magnificent colors, sounds, and rich smells of the Orthodox church. Let them permeate your being for they are the gifts of God to draw you closer to Him, but remember never to mistake them for the true object of worship. Never tire of hearing the Gospel accounts of Christ's passion. Listen, even when it seems we have read them over and over "for my brothers and sisters, it is never enough. It is never enough." Undoubtedly for Archbishop JOB "to live was Christ and to die was gain." Collectively Orthodox Christians throughout America and the world mourn the premature loss of a beloved Shepherd. We will miss you Vladkyka. May His Memory Be Eternal!

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It is poetry Wednesday. I came to love this poem of Houseman's my freshman year of college. Archbishop JOB looked forward to his upcoming retirement and probably even longed for it so he could slip into obscurity and to paraphrase his own words, work on his own salvation. God did not want it that way and took him while still young and greatly revered. Click here to read others' poems for today. A blessed Christmas to you all!

"To An Athlete Dying Young"

A.E. Houseman

The time you won your town the race

We chaired you through the market-place;

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,

Shoulder-high we bring you home,

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

From fields where glory does not stay

And early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut

Cannot see the record cut,

And silence sounds no worse than cheers

After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout

Of lads that wore their honors out,

Runners whom renown outran

And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,

The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

And hold to the low lintel up

The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head

Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,

And find unwithered on its curls

The garland briefer than a girl's.