Monthly Archives: November 2023

Behold, the eyes of the Lord.

icons, Psalms, ,

The Lord looked down from heaven.
He beheld all the sons of men.

From His habitation which He prepared,
He looked upon all the inhabitants of the earth,

He that alone fashioned the heart of them,
Who understandeth all their works.

A king is not saved by great might,
nor shall a giant be saved
by the magnitude of his own strength.

Futile is the horse for salvation,
nor by the magnitude of his might shall he be saved.

Behold, the eyes of the Lord are upon them that fear Him,
upon them that hope in His mercy.

To deliver their souls from death,
and to nourish them in famine.

Our soul shall wait for the Lord,
for He is our helper and our defender.

For our heart shall be glad in Him,
and in His holy Name have we hoped.

Let thy mercy, O Lord, be upon us,
according as we have hoped in Thee.

-From Psalm 32b

Text encircling the icon of Christ Pantocrator:

He hath looked out from His holy height.
The Lord from heaven hath looked upon the earth,
to hear the groaning of them that be in fetters.

Everything falls back to coldness.

poetry, , , ,

THE READER

All night I sat reading a book,
Sat reading as if in a book
Of sombre pages.

It was autumn and falling stars
Covered the shrivelled forms
Crouched in the moonlight.

No lamp was burning as I read,
A voice was mumbling, “Everything
Falls back to coldness,

Even the musky muscadines,
The melons, the vermilion pears
Of the leafless garden.”

The sombre pages bore no print
Except the trace of burning stars
In the frosty heaven.

-Wallace Stevens

 

Feijoas, clouds and softness.

my garden, weather, ,

It’s a benevolent autumn day. Rain is coming, possibly in a few minutes, and next week the nighttime temperatures will fall sharply again. But at this blessed moment… I discovered that it’s warmer outside than in. I went out to look for figs that the squirrels hadn’t eaten, and filled my apron more than once with pineapple guavas (Feijoa sellowiana) instead.

Clouds come and go. Soft and warm gusts of wind blow one thing and another out of its place. Last week I laid a fire, and I keep putting off lighting it. I’ve been too busy to tend or enjoy a fire in the stove, and the weather has been mild enough to do without. But on a dark and rainy night, when I get to stay home — seems like it might be the right time.

The answer to St. Sophrony’s prayer.

quotes, saints, , , , , ,

From a church bulletin:

“…in the early twenties—before my departure to Mt. Athos in 1925, I wept and prayed to  God: ‘Find a way to save the world—to save all of us, we are all defiled and cruel.’

I would pray with particular fervor for the ‘little ones,’ the poor and oppressed.
Towards morning, with my strength waning, my prayer would be disturbed by the
thought that if I grieve for mankind with all my heart, how is it that God can look on indifferently at the pain and torment of millions of beings whom He Himself had created? Why does He allow the innumerable instances of brute force in the world?

And I would turn to Him with the insane challenge, ‘Where art Thou?’ And in my heart I heard: ‘Was it you who was crucified for them?’ …The gentle words uttered by the Spirit shook me to the core—He Who was crucified had answered me as God.”

—Saint Sophrony, reposed July 11th, 1993

Edward Arthur Fellowes Prynne: Jesus is Nailed to the Cross