The Painted Veil

A little over a year ago I remember reading Maugham's The Painted Veil and, soon after, saw the stunning movie with Edward Norton and Naomi Watts. I saw the movie with my husband - I was pregnant with Pavel at the time - and we decided to just spend an evening together. We ate at a Vietnamese restaurant before and then walked up to the movie theater. It was cold, the ground was icy, but I felt warm walking beside him. When the movie ended, I looked over at his profile, so thankful that we were together, that we had no betrayals to overcome like the couple we saw in the film.

To this day, I have no idea what Maugham meant by the title. I imagine I am missing some very obvious literary or mythological reference, perhaps even Biblical - that somehow it refers to Jacob, Leah and Rachel - that Walter, like Jacob, was tricked into marrying one woman believing her to be another, and then had to labor to finally be able to call his wife the woman he really loved.

I think about how we, as humans, are constantly covering ourselves with veils, deceiving those around us. We have a picture in our mind of who we want the world to see us as. We hide our true thoughts and desires. We let those closest to us believe us to be something, someone else. When the veil is lifted, we either love more or are sickened. And then we ask -was there indeed a veil, or did we deceive ourselves? Were we the ones who placed the veil over our loved ones -that they were true to us, but we were not true to them?

I do not know how many veils I have put on and taken off in my life. The veil of holiness, which is hypocrisy, the veil of sophistication, which really is self-doubt, or the veil of nonchalance, which becomes self-destruction. Many times I have tried to veil myself and could not. I have tried to make my emotions opaque, and yet everyone around me saw right through me. Only once, I would like to be hidden, for people to not know what I am feeling. But God didn't make me that way, and my closest friends have thanked me for my honesty. Many times, though, I end up getting very, very hurt. At this point I am not sure what God wants from me. Certainly He does not want me to wear a veil before Him. What is the point anyway - God sees and knows all. He is the one who we aim to be unveiled before.

But how can I be unveiled before God, and veiled before society? How can I be vulnerable and protect myself at the same time? Perhaps it is more that I need to be more Christ-like, more humble, that when people see me, hopefully they see something good, and not the forced illusion of something that is good.

"Preserve me, O God, for in thee I take refuge. I say to the Lord, 'Thou art my Lord; I have no good apart from thee.'" - from Psalm 16:1-2

The Crazy Dutch

Last night my family and I traveled out of our zip code for the first time in ten days, and initially, I must admit, it felt like we were undertaking an expedition through the North African desert. Do we have the necessary items - water, diapers, a change of clothes, non-perishable food in the event we become stranded? What about a thermometer? Eventually we managed to get out of the house, into the car, and onto the long highway that would lead us to the dwelling place of, what I refer to as, the Crazy Dutch.

At first one might assume by my descriptive crazy that I am not fond of this family, but really it is quite the opposite. I use the term crazy quite a bit, more than someone would with a more heightened sense of vocabulary. But there it is. Crazy, for me, is to be very talented, witty, and above all, possess that joie de vivre that is so rare today in America - a great willingness to laugh and be laughed at.

This might be the right place to mention the time Viktor, while reading the Hours before Liturgy, chanted out in place of God loves the just, God loves the Dutch, sending the entire choir into a crescendo of giggles and snorts. The fact that this happened over a year ago, and that I'm still talking about it raises question about my level of humor, but we do get a giggle or two still out of this anecdote, though perhaps no longer a snort.

The purpose of our visit was dinner - and what a marvelous dinner it was. Anya, who has quite a bit of English in her - how I love the way she pronounces neither, tomato and controversy - made not only roast beef, roasted potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, but a chocolate mousse and summer pudding as well. I was quite a glutton and helped myself not twice, but thrice, to the Yorkshire delight. At table we talked about various things - Church life, literature, physics, Australia, music, education of children, Tiffany lamps and wine. I tried to add a remark or two between deciding when it would be somewhat polite to ask Viktor to pass, yet again, the Yorkshire Pudding.

After dinner, we were presented with a variety of gifts - a wooden book of farm animals for Pavel, Tinker Toys for the feisty Sasha, The Dangerous Book for Boys for my husband, and, for me, the soundtrack to Les Choristes (and some Swiss chocolates, bien sur). I was quite touched by their generosity and thoughtfulness, as I was really expected nothing.

A fire was crackling in their wood-burning stove, Choral music was in the background, and we nibbled away at our desserts and drank coffee with hot milk. At one point, Viktor, Anya and I went to the piano and played out and sang some new music for the Liturgy - Viktor jumping back and forth between Tenor and Bass, and Anya - Alto and Soprano.

Seated back around the fire, Viktor began talking about Christmas Day, and how we had celebrated it. I remarked it was one of our nicest - snow on the ground, a good dinner, just sitting around together with our children listening to Christmas hymns.

"Yes, we did a similar thing. Sat around the fire, all five of us reading books, listening to music -" I was not taken aback at this picture, but then I was. To sit around a fire, with your three teenage children (now no longer children), and just read together, listen to music. I could ask for nothing more, that my two sons, when grown, would want to spend time sitting with their mother and father on Christmas Day.

I think this very much attests to the kind of people these crazy Dutch are. It was a delight to be in their company, and it was one of the best evenings I have had away from home in a long time.

Have I told you?

The lovely Florence suggested that I start posting my poetry and short stories on my blogsite, so that not only she can read them, but others as well. I have to admit the idea of posting my writing in a more orthodox form is somewhat daunting. There is a certain vulnerability that I have not allowed, even in my incredibly personal posts. But here it is, my first poem, because, as Richard Rodriguez said in his keynote lecture this summer at a Writer Conference in Taos - You cannot be afraid as writers. You must speak the truth at all times, even if it opens you up to the most terrible criticism, because we as writers cannot be silent or we cease to be writers. And when we no longer write, something inside us dies.

To Pavel

Have I told you today how much

I love you?

Have I told you about that one long,

red-blond hair that sticks straight up on your head like a Who?

Have I told you about your feet -

those two little entities kicking furiously

as if you were riding a bicycle?

Have I told you about your laugh,

your smile, your small hand reaching

up for my cross?

Have I told you about the joy you bring

to this family - there is nothing else

when my eyes are on your face.

There is no need for my thoughts to be carried

away or consumed,

because when I look at you

my heart is full.

Under the Ice

I have been having trouble concentrating lately, and in all my attempts to bring order to my life, I have only added more disorder - like completely rearranging my office, so that I have neat, little piles everywhere, but, of course, I cannot find a thing.

I cannot remember what day it is, nor what the date is. All I know is that the Theophany services are upon me, and I do not know where to begin looking for my January music in all this paperwork stacked all about my desk. Yes, Theophany is upon us, and my reaction to this is tightening all of my muscles, from my jaw and neck all the way down to the toes of my feet. It is eleven thirteen at night, and I should be sleeping, but I more want to remember, remember where I am, remember all that I have to accomplish in the next few days.

One of my projects has been retyping the Royal Hours from the Menaion, inserting the Troparia and Kontak, so that everything flows flawlessly, and there are no post-its or book markers cluttering the pages. When this doesn't seem worth it, I remind myself how much easier this will be for me next year, and that, on Friday night, there will be no long pauses between readings. My head should be clear, but, of course, it is not.

While typing the reading from Acts, I came across this particular verse - In those days, as John fulfilled his course, he said, whom do you think that I am? I am not he. But, behold, there comes one after me, whose shoes I am not worthy to loose." It occurred to me I have lost Christ in my quest to put together the perfect service - a service whose purpose is to draw us closer to Christ. "Whose shoes I am not worthy to loose" - it sends shivers through me. I don't understand. I don't understand the first thing about how awesome and powerful all of this is.

When I look at this picture I think of the many hailstorms we had last summer, and how many times they came without warning. I would be staring at the clear sky, the evening sunlight over the fields, and suddenly a great rush of ice thundered down onto the earth. Hail has a particular sound when it hits, like a thousand shotguns going off at the same time. It is both violent and beautiful, and I watch it with heightened emotion. When the storm is over, there enters the most quiet, calm, stunning moment, but it is filled with a certain fear too - is there a tornado brewing in the clouds?

Under that layer of hail there is soft, wet, sweet-smelling earth. Where the sky has cleared there is light, double rainbows, green maples made even brighter from the rain. I suppose if I can endure the storm, if I can comb away the ice on the ground and put my fear away, I can find something beautiful. I can perhaps even find Christ.

God is With Us

For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given: and the government shall be upon His shoulder, and His name shall be called the Angel of Great Counsel, Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Eternal Ruler, Prince of Peace, the Father of the World to Come . . . Great shall be His empire, and of His peace there shall be no end: He shall sit upon the throne of David and shall establish His Kingdom with righteousness, and shall strengthen it with justice, henceforth and forevermore.

- from Isaiah 9:6-7

It was a good Christmas - ice and snow on the ground, the sky clear and crisp. I could see my breath as I stood on the steps of the church. On Christmas morning itself the wind was strong, and it twirled the flurries in the air like moths around a light bulb in summer, but Christmas Eve the sun was at full height, so strong that I had to shut my eyes momentarily when I stepped outside. I remember most of all the midday Vespers and Liturgy of St. Basil. There were only three of us in the choir, only a handful of faithful in the church, but it was one of the most prayerful services I have experienced in a long time. I remember looking over the edge of the balcony at the altar and saw how one strip of light broke through the stained glass, and cast three separate spots on the steps leading up to the Royal Doors. A great thing is happening today, but how few of us will recognize it - God comes into this world and takes on human flesh. How deeply He loves us.

In preschool my son made me a paper mache heart-shaped box with a glass bead inside inscribed with the words I love you. At one point I thought I lost the bead and I was heartbroken, and then a few weeks later, when I was searching for money for candles at the bottom of my bag, I discovered it. I immediately stuck it in my coat pocket and zipped it closed. I didn't want to lose it again. During Vigil that night I reached into my pocket and ran my finger over the soft shell of the bead, thinking - my Sasha loves me and how I love him, yet how much more God loves me, so much it is beyond my human reason to comprehend.

I have let the bead remain in my coat pocket as a gentle reminder of God's love for me and for all humanity and it gives me incredible peace. For a moment, I too am in the cave, beholding His radiance, partaking of His very Incarnation.

The Hours of the Day

I stared out my bedroom window this morning and watched the snow continue to fall. Not really fall, but more swirl and spin, as if its only destination was itself, that it would never reach the ground. Winter has been playing a game with me - I thought she had arrived and then it was warm again. She blew in a storm and then retreated. Now I think she is finally here to stay.

I have never been frightened of the world. I have never considered not having children because of the horrific things that happen to children everyday, or because I am afraid of what they will have to engage when they grow up. But today I am afraid. I realize how quickly life can be taken from us. After September 11th, I was a little nervous to fly, but not enough that it prevented me from flying. Now the forces of evil are everywhere - in shopping malls, at churches, in schools. The world, just like the snow outside, is spinning out of control, but I cannot be afraid. I cannot teach my children to be afraid.

As I was sitting at my window looking at the snow and all of this was going through my head, I began to think about Islam and how Muslims pray several times a day, and how they actually adopted this from the Christian Hours - yet how many of us Orthodox besides those in the monasteries actually pray the Hours. We structure our day around preschool, meals, workouts, TV programs, and somehow we fit prayer into our established routine when and if we can. How much more appropriate it would be if we could structure our day around prayer, that when the clock turned to nine, noonday, three o'clock, we would just drop everything and recite the prayers of that hour. In the Church we sanctify everything, restoring it to its proper function - we bless water, fruit, oil - bread and wine become Christ's Body and Blood - and we sanctify time with the rule of Vespers, Compline, the Midnight Office, Matins, the Hours. How everything we need is right before us, yet how often we are blind to it.

Today I did my morning prayers, and then I did the Sixth Hour, and how complete I felt after doing this. I did not feel rushed or anxious. The laundry would still be there, the dishes, the bills - but this was the needful thing.

The world is uncertain, but Christ is the fullness of all things. My life on this earth is uncertain, but the Life of this world is forever. I will pray, be vigilant, my hope being that whenever it is my time I will be ready to stand before God and give an account of my life. I will not be afraid, because that is exactly what the evil one wants, for if we are afraid, we are turned away from the one thing that can assuage all fears.

Sandstorms

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore take the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the equipment of the gospel of peace; besides all these, taking the shield of faith, with which you can quench all the flaming darts of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."

- from Ephesians 6:10-17

I haven't been able to write lately, or really do much of anything other than my daily obligations. I believe this is because I have spent too much time thinking, too much time staring out the window at the bare branches of the trees, the empty plains, watching how the light and darkness come and go with the sun. I am in the middle of the desert, alone, and I have forgotten to cry out to God.

It was by chance that I was the reader on Sunday for this particular Epistle. It was a matter of logistics in the choir - I had only one bass and three sopranos, so I asked the bass if we could switch. I didn't even look at the reading beforehand. I just went downstairs, received a blessing and began the Prokeimenon - "The Lord is my strength and my song . . ."

I began the reading slowly, so as not to stumble over the words, but I did, because I was so engaged in their power that I couldn't manage their pronunciation. "For we are not contending with flesh and blood, but against the principalities . . ." Yes, too often I think my struggle is simply flesh and blood. If I concentrate hard enough I can be something else, feel something else - I alone am in control of my life and my emotions. I forget about that great struggle for my soul. I forget that I need God, that without faith and prayer I have no armor with which to shield myself from the fiery darts of evil.

I stand in the midst of the sandstorm, grains of the earth filling my mouth and ears and nose, the terrible winds encircling my body so that I cannot move. This is the time, this is the time to cry out with all my strength to God. I am not asking to be delivered from the sandstorm, only that I will be given the strength to endure, to fight that good fight to the end.