"Our Brother is Our Life" (Some Lenten Thoughts)

Throughout Lent, I have been rereading Fr. Thomas Hopko's work, The Lenten Spring. Here are just some thoughts taken from this book which are especially meaningful to me.

From St. Silouan:

If we wish to love God we must observe all that the Lord commanded in the Gospels. Our hearts must brim with compassion and not only feel love for the fellowmen but pity for every creature–for every thing created by God.

The Lord wants us to love our fellow-man; and if you reflect that the Lord loves him, that is a sign of the Lord's love in you. And if you consider how greatly the Lord loves His creature, and you yourself have compassion on all creation, and love your enemies counting yourself the vilest of men, this a sign of abundant grace of the Holy Spirit in you.

The man who has the Holy Spirit within him, in however slight degree, sorrows day and night for all mankind. His heart is filled with pity for all of God's creatures, and more especially for those who do not know God or who resist Him... For them, more than for himself, he prays night and day, that all may repent and know the Lord.

I beseech you, put this to the test. When a man affronts you or brings dishonor on your head, or takes what is yours, or persecutes the Church, pray to the Lord and say: 'O Lord, we are all Thy creatures. Have pity on Thy servants and turn their hearts to repentance,' and you will be aware of grace in your soul. To begin with, constrain your heart to love her enemies, and the Lord seeing your good will, will help you in all things, and experience itself will show you the way. But the person who thinks with malice on his enemies has not God's love within him and does not know God.

From Christ's parable found in St. Matthew's Gospel:

When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the angels with Him, then He will sit on His glorious throne. Before Him will be gathered all the nations, and He will separate them one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and He will place the sheep at His right hand, but the goats at the left. Then the King will say to those at His right hand, 'Come, O blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave Me food, I was thirsty and you gave Me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed Me, I was naked and you clothed Me, I was sick and you visited Me, I was in prison and you came to Me.' Then the righteous will answer Him, 'Lord, when did we see Thee hungry and feed Thee, or thristy and give Thee drink? And when did we see Thee a stranger and welcome Thee, or naked and clothe Thee? And when did we see Thee sick or in prison and visit Thee? And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.'

From St. Simeon the New Theologian:

A person is not saved by having once shown mercy to someone, although if he scorns someone but once he deserves eternal fire. For 'I was hungry,' and 'I was thirsty' was said not just of one occasion, not of one day, but of the whole of life. In the same way, 'you gave me food,' 'you gave me drink,' 'you clothed me' and so on does not indicate one incident, but a constant attitude to everyone.

Our Lord was pleased to assume the likeness of every poor man and compared Himself to every poor man in order that no man who believes in Him should exalt himself over his brother, but, seeing the Lord in his brother, should consider himself less and worse than his brother, just as he is less than his Creator. And he should take the poor man in and honor him, and be ready to exhaust all his means in helping him, just as our Lord Jesus Christ exhausted His blood for our salvation.

From St. John Chrysostom:

Do you see that the failure to give alms is enough to cast a person into hell-fire? For where will he avail who does not give alms? Do you fast every day? So also did those foolish virgins, but it availed them nothing. Do you pray? So did they. What of it? Prayer without almsgiving is unfruitful... 'He who does not love his brother,' it is said, 'does not know God' (I John 4:8). And how do you love him, when you do not even give him these things which are worthless and passing... Here we can resemble God, in showing mercy and generosity. When we have not these qualities, we are devoid of all good.

For what is required is that we give, not much or little, but not less than is in our power. Think about the widow... who gave her whole living, but you in the midst of your plenty are more stingy than she. Let us not be careless for our own salvation, but apply ourselves to almsgiving. For nothing is better that this, as the the time to come will tell...

What does it profit, my brethren, if a man says he has faith but has not works? Can his faith save him? If a brother or sister is ill-clad and in lack of daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, be warmed and filled,' without giving them the things needed for the body, what does it profit? So faith by itself, if it has not works, is dead. (James 2:14-17)

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

In Thomas' world, the count down for Friday typically begins on Monday. "Friday is getting closer, " he will exclaim. And then starting with his pointer finger he will add up the days until he has figured out when this treasured time will arrive, all the while singing a song learned at music class, "Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday..." "Mom, you cannot imagine, only four more days!" I have yet to determine whether Thomas' longing for Friday, cultivated primarily by our limitation of television watching to that day, is natural for a four-year-old. Nonetheless, it is Friday and despite Jared's and my efforts to convince him that it was actually Sunday and church day (not his favorite day), Thomas called our bluff and he is oh-so-happy. We have already performed the "Friday Family Fun Night" song and dance, but our movie selection for this evening has yet to be decided (hopefully not The Little Mermaid, again; probably an episode of The Clone Wars).

The boys and I have experienced a quiet day at home. Together we marveled at the continuous stream of birds who stuck their heads into the birdhouse outside our kitchen window (Russell and Elliot both like to point and make bird noises), though we were disappointed that none of the Mr. and Mrs. Birds chose to settle down and create a home. While Russell and Elliot "slept" during their morning nap, Thomas and I pulled out three wooden animal puzzles he received a couple Christmas' ago from Grandpa Johnson, and he was finally able to piece them together. (Yes, I think he now recognizes his numbers through ten, as well as the letters of the alphabet.) Of course, our new friends could not be content in merely being pieces of a puzzle. Rather they transformed into bad guys and good guys. (The parrot and alligator were the former and elephants the latter. And in case you were are not privy to this particular piece of knowledge, elephants have very strong trunks which not only can whip the enemy into submission but can also eject poison spray.) And we all, or at least Thomas and I, though a bit sickened by it, found Elliot's insistence on eating hummus by the spoonful at lunchtime highly amusing.

As for me, I am about to partake of my afternoon coffee (ah, sweet bliss), reveling in the fact that all three of the children are sleeping, that it is officially the first day of spring, that opening day for the Chicago Cubs is only sixteen days away, and that my icon of the North American saints arrived today. I might venture upstairs and listen to a little Bob Dylan. And maybe I will even clean the bathroom. Why not?

What I Like About You

As I lay in bed the other night, unable to sleep because of the beastly cold/sinus infection that has plagued me for nearly two weeks, praying the NyQuil which I had finally relented to would kick in, I began to think about the three little bodies soundly slumbering in the two rooms next to mine and initiated a mental list of what it is about each one of these unique individuals that makes me happy. Enjoy!

Elliot

Daddy and I have decided that your nickname should be sweet and sour. You are oh-so-cuddly, giving me soft hugs with your head against my shoulder, sweetly kissing both my cheeks with your tiny pursed lips; screaming "MAMA!!!!" and then blowing me a kiss when I look your way. But, oh, are you loud and we are constantly looking to find your quiet voice in your pockets, outside the window, anywhere. Actually any voice a decibel lower than a shrill shriek would be acceptable. (We are confident that once you can talk, the screaming will diminish.) I like how you put your right ear close to my mouth so I can whisper a secret ("I love you stinky face!") and then turn your left ear so I can whisper it again. I like how you knock on the bathroom closet door every morning to see if "Mr. Blue," your toothbrush, is at home. I like how you pretend to put on oven mitts and then take muffins out of the oven–you always offer one to me. Thanks. I like how you wave at the character Little Toot when you are reading your book or to the icon of St. Michael the Archangel after we complete our closing prayer at breakfast. I like how you curl up your body to fit inside our toy washing machine, pretending it is your house. Sometimes I panic because I cannot find you and then I remember your hiding spot. (Maybe you too need a little peace and quiet.) I like that you like kimchee. And I like how you have become so attached to the Pooh Bear Grandpa Johnson bought you for Christmas, even though that means you scream when I decline your request to sleep with Edward Bear at naptime. 

Thomas

My little man, who is increasingly independent from his mother, I like how you pull out our old broken laptop complete with mouse and pretend to be Daddy at work, making phone calls on your cell phone, planning the next concert. I like how you also pretend to play video games on this laptop, giving me updates every minute or so on who is dead and what is occurring on the blank screen. I like how you took my picture with Grandpa and Grandma Swanson's very old camera (probably from the 1960s) making me hold up Nurse Nancy, the book I was about to read to you and then asking me if I wanted to view the image you had taken. I like how after reading Virginia Lee Burton's book, The Little House, you told me you wanted to live in a pink house just like the one in the book, except it had to be right next door to me. I like how we created a zoo out of Legos today while playing under the kitchen table–I was a lady on a trip, complete with suit case, and you were a cow. We got on quite marvelously. You wanted to end our story by having all the animals at the zoo die; I refused. Instead, we took one of the penguins home with us. Apparently, the penguin was a daddy carrying an egg because while our Lego friends dined, a baby penguin hatched. I like that. I like that today you built a Lego ship with four guns and informed me and Daddy that it was a Buffalo Ship. I like that today I found Daddy's suitcase filled with Star Wars guys and your Grasshopper record. Are you planning a trip? I like that even though you are getting so big, you still like to play and snuggle close to your mommy and that you always forgive me when I am tense or grumpy. Thank you.

Russell

I like that you say, "Mmmm," to every meal I make for you. It never ceases to amaze me how so much food can stick to your face. I like how you shake your head, "No," to every question I ask you, even when you mean, "Yes." I appreciate your desire for order and how you point and yell at me until I close a drawer, cabinet, or door. I like the way you look in your blue winter coat when you are wearing the hood. I like that you now say, "Mommy," instead of, "Momma." I like that when you hear Orthodox hymns playing on Ancient Faith Radio that you begin to cross yourself. And I like that when we have completed our prayers and you are saying good morning to Jesus and Mary and all the saints you have very definite ideas of which icon you are going to kiss. I like how you try to do prostrations; it makes me giggle to see your little head touch the floor. I like that whenever you hear music, you start to sway back and forth and dance. I like that when we sing the troparion to St.Raphael of Brooklyn, you sing, "Ra, Ra," for Raphael. I like that you wave your little fingers up and down when you are pretending to go to work. You always forget your lunch and have to come back and get it from me. I like that on the rare occasions you are allowed into the living room you will almost always find the picture of Uncle Russ and Grandpa Swanson when they were tinies and give them both a big kiss. I like that you like Grandpa Swanson so much. Whenever you see him, your face lights up and you say your version of, "Grandpa." I know he likes it too, especially from you, since you bear the name of his older brother.

All in the Family

"Mommy, guess what I have behind my back?" From my vantage point on Russell's and Elliot's floor where I sat changing Elliot's diaper, I caught a glimpse of a tiny female Lego figure, but I did not want to disappoint Thomas, who could hardly contain himself,  by being immediately correct in my answer. "A book?" "No." "A Star Wars guy?" "No." "A Lego?" "Yes," Thomas declared. And from their hiding place emerged three Lego figures.

"This is you mommy, Bef. She got all dressed up today and put on lipstick. Do you have a purple zip up jacket?" (For the record, I have more or less worn lipstick every day since the age of thirteen so my son's comment is no means reflective of what I look like on a daily basis. And no, I absolutely do not own or ever hope to own a purple zip up jacket. Apparently, black is not a popular color in the Hispanic Lego community.) Holding up a small Caucasian boy wearing a green baseball cap, Thomas announced, "this is me. T-H-O-M-A-S. And this man (yes, the elderly Lego male who is apparently of South Asian descent), is daddy. I call him Jerry." When questioned where Russell and Elliot were, Thomas related that this was our family when he was three, before the boys came home.  So there you have it folks, from the perspective of my four-year-old son, this is what our family looks like.

The Life in Your Years

From the warmth of my bed, the faint sound of our phone ringing shattered the quietness of our home as Jared, Thomas, and I lay dormant. The answering machine started it's message, and I detected a muffled, indistinguishable voice broadcasting into our empty kitchen downstairs. Sluggishly my arm reached out towards my bedside table, fumbling to grasp my glasses so my dismal nearsightedness could be corrected. Leaning over my husband's curled up body, I viewed the digital red numbers of our clock. It was seven o'clock on Thursday, March 6, 2008.

On any other morning, an early morning phone call would have been cause for alarm. Instantly, my mind would have begun to project numerous possibilities of who was calling and what horrific message would be conveyed. But on this day, the day after we had received our long-awaited message from our social worker that Russell and Elliot were ready to travel to their new home, I reasoned that the call was more than likely a family member or friend returning our call to share in our joy. Casually I descended the stairs, flipped on the kitchen light, and played back the message. The voice on the other end was my mother-in-law's and she was crying. Desperately, I sought to decipher the enormity of what she was relating.

Matt. Accident. Head trauma. Air-lifted to Peoria. Deliberately I ascended the stairs to bear the heart-rending news to my husband, already fearing in my heart that his cousin, our cousin, would not survive this calamity. Within a few hours, Jared and I joined Matt's family, Uncle Andy, Aunt Sharon, Megan, and Clayton, as well as a host of Matt's friends to keep steadfast vigil by his side. The suffering and despondency weighed heavy as the elevator doors opened and we emerged to join this mournful community. And for days, time stood still. Finally, with the blessing of Uncle Andy and Aunt Sharon, to not delay our trip to Seoul, Jared and I said our good-byes to Matt on Saturday evening. In the late afternoon on Sunday, March 9, the phone rang again: Matt had departed this life.

In a beautiful demonstration of their love for their cousin, two of our "Colorado" cousin's endeavored to create a meaningful memoir of Matt's life for Uncle Andy and Aunt Sharon by collecting pictures, stories, and reminiscences from family and friends. As our family solemnly celebrated our first Christmas without Matt, Andy and Sharon graciously shared this book with us. The following is what Jared, the oldest Farmer cousin, related about his little cousin Matt.

“I thought he might be the kind of boy that really liked balls,” Dad said as Thomas opened the gift he had given him for his birthday. “I remember your cousin Matt always liked balls when he was that age.” Notice he didn’t say, “You always liked balls when you were that age.” Matt and I were very different boys from the beginning. The truth was I liked books, Legos, art, theatre, TV, movies – anything I could sit and do. Sports and I never really got along, and I tried many. Matt, however, was always a very active, very energetic, very athletic kid. I tried sports; Matt played sports.

The toys we chose also defined us a bit. I was really into Star Wars and Matt was really into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I certainly liked the blasters and lightsabers, but I was just as likely to be found playing the role-playing game with dice, paper, and pen. But Matt, in true TMNT fashion, simply wanted to beat me up. Thankfully, I was the older, larger cousin. Also, thankfully, Aunt Sharon and Uncle Andy understood Matt’s personality and never scolded me when I had to pin Matt down to protect myself.

What comes to me from both of these remembrances is while I so often lived my life in my head, or on paper, Matt actually lived his life. He did what he thought to do, without timidity and without regret. And I think anyone who knew him, loved this about him. Wherever Matt was, he always seemed happy to be doing what he was doing. Even at an age when most kids cringe at the idea of family get-togethers, Matt always seemed sincerely happy to be there – without embarrassment at the older cousin, aunt, uncle, or grandparent.

In fact, I never got the slightest hint that he was ever unhappy to be where he was. He seemed to live the adage, “Wherever you are, be there.” It is for that ability I will always remember, respect, and love Matt. I have absolutely no doubt that when I next see Matt at our family get-together in the sky, he’ll look up from the game, smile and wave at me, sincerely happy to see me, and sincerely happy to be where he is.

There is a quote from Abraham Lincoln that I discovered awhile ago whose sentiment I treasure and which typifies Matt's full but all too brief life on this earth. "And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count," Lincoln said. "It's the life in your years." Live and love humbly and boldly my precious friends and family, free of anxiety and earthly cares, always remembering that our lives are but a vapor that appears for just a time and then vanishes away.

Matthew Andrew Tyrrell
April 17, 1985-March 9, 2008
May the Lord God remember you in His Kingdom always,
now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Forgive me, a sinner

At the age of six, on my way home from a Wednesday night at church, family legend has it I looked at my mom and said, "Now about this original sin thing." Since that time, I have found there are many answers to this difficult question. Apparently whatever my mom told me that night made sense and I prayed for Jesus to save me from this curse. It is a prayer I've prayed many times since that day: "Lord, forgive me, a sinner." In a sense, "this original sin thing" is a mystery I've been pondering ever since. How exactly can I be held responsible for the actions of another? It's one thing to be held responsible for my own shortcomings, but it always seemed unfair to be held responsible for those belonging to someone else.

Early in the morning about a year ago, the day after Beth, Thomas and I received the unbelievably joyous news that it was time to travel and bring home the two newest members of our family, we received the unbelievably tragic news that my cousin Matt had been in a terrible car accident. Over the following weekend, as we prepared for our flight to Korea, we also made several trips to Peoria to be with my aunt and uncle and cousin in the hospital. Matt was unconscious during these visits, never to wake again.

As I was mourning, I was also able to observe the grief of Matt's close friends and family who had come to be by his side in these last moments of his waning life. Much of our grief was coming from what's popularly called survivor's guilt, endlessly running our individual "what ifs" through our minds. What if I had been a better role model? What if I had stopped him from going? What if I had not told him to hurry back? What if I had done something differently and averted this terrible situation?

In watching this grief, I found a part of the mystery of "original sin" laid bare. Here I sat, feeling guilty for what had happened when it would have been easy to pretend I held no responsibility at all. But the truth is, I have done things that in hindsight were clearly ill-advised. I have stood by as friends put themselves in dangerous situations. In making those choices, I took responsibility for their consequences. And here the consequences were, meted out on my beloved cousin Matt. When I looked at Matt, I saw what should have been me. I understood I deserved that fate; I had earned that fate. And it was only by that grace we too often refer to as luck I had thus far been saved from that fate. Lord, forgive me, a sinner.

Tonight the season of Lent begins in the Orthodox Church with a service we call Forgiveness Vespers. As part of this service every member of the congregation prostrates before every other member, asking for and granting forgiveness. For those of you who will not be with us tonight, please allow me this opportunity to ask your forgiveness. I'm sorry for every time I've been careless and irresponsible. I'm sorry for all the times I've been angry and rude and flippant and disrespectful. I know I'm often arrogant and self-centered, and what's worse is I usually don't even care to work on it. However, for the next 40 days, and the rest of my life, I promise to work on it. In the mean time, please forgive me, a sinner.