Category Archives: books

The most fragrant dispensation.

Since Pascha I have been reading The Eucharist by Father Alexander Schmemann. It is so much more than I expected; I don’t know what I did expect — maybe with such a simple title I imagined something “dry and scholarly”? We can count on Fr. Alexander to be scholarly, but we can also count on his words to be infused by the Holy Spirit and to convey his own obvious joy in the Holy Spirit.

My priest was graced to hear these words as seminary lectures; the author died before he could finish the English edition of his book, but use was made of the original Russian and the French translation in the publishing of the edition I am reading, in 1987.  It’s another of those many lasting gifts that Fr. Alexander has given us.

Much in the section on “The Sacrament of the Kingdom” is especially fitting for the celebration of Pentecost this week, so I share from the riches I’m receiving:

…Through his coming on the “last and great day of Pentecost” the Holy Spirit transforms this last day into the first day of the new creation and manifests the Church as the gift and presence of this first and “eighth” day.

Thus, everything in the Church is by the Holy Spirit, everything is in the Holy Spirit and everything is partaking of the Holy Spirit. It is by the Holy Spirit because with the descent of the Spirit the Church is revealed as the transformation of the end into the beginning, of the old life into the new. “The Holy Spirit grants all things; he is the source of prophecy, he fulfills the priesthood, he gathers the entire church assembly” (hymn of Pentecost). Everything in the Church is in the Holy Spirit, who raises us up to the heavenly sanctuary, to the throne of God. “We have seen the true light, we have received the heavenly Spirit” (another hymn of Pentecost).

Finally, the Church is entirely oriented toward the Holy Spirit, “the treasury of blessings and giver of life.” The entire life of the Church is a thirst for acquisition of the Holy Spirit and for participation in him, and in him of the fullness of grace. Just as the life and spiritual struggle of each believer consists, in the words of St. Seraphim of Sarov, in the acquisition of the Holy Spirit, so also the life of the Church is that same acquisition, that same eternally satisfied but never completely quenched thirst for the Holy Spirit.

I can imagine that there are writings about the Holy Spirit that are “dry,” if the writer is not skilled, or has not experienced life in Christ. But the Holy Spirit himself cannot be dry — he is sent to water our souls with divine life. At the close of this section Father Alexander gives us a prayer from the compline canon of the Feast of the Holy Spirit:

“Come to us, O Holy Spirit, and make us partakers of your holiness,
and of the light that knows no evening, and of the divine life,
and of the most fragrant dispensation….”

Middlemarch has me laughing so soon.

Today is May 1st, so it’s the official date of the Read-Along of Middlemarch that Arti is hosting for the next two months. She wrote a new post about the project for today, which you can read by clicking on the book cover image in my sidebar. It includes some ungracious things that Henry James said about how George Eliot’s mind made him fall in love with her even though she was not pretty – but he did not put it so euphemistically.

I did start reading the book about ten days ago but I haven’t read every day, so I am only three days’ worth of pages jump-started. I was surprised at how quickly the author makes  her characters’ personalities known to the reader, through the most natural and revealing dialogue, as when Dorothea and her sister discuss Mr. Casaubon’s looks, only a few pages in. The two girls had already endeared themselves to me, charming opposites to one another but both sympathetic, and their conversation about their differing perspectives made me laugh out loud in spite of myself as I sat in the corner of my garden.

Because I’m not traveling so much in the coming months, it seems I should have time available to enjoy this big and wonderful book, though it’s been a very long time since I have used my leisure for deep reading of such a long novel. It will be good.

Middlemarch in May with Arti

Arti at Ripple Effects blog is hosting a read-along for the next two or more months, and I am joining in! She invites us to the party with this inducement:

“In 2015, BBC Culture contributor Jane Ciabattari surveyed 82 book critics around the world outside UK, ‘from Australia to Zimbabwe’, and asked them to rate the greatest English novels of all time. Guess which book came up on top of the list? Guess right. Middlemarch by George Eliot.”

More than a dozen years ago my husband and I read this novel aloud together, and found it a rich and complex world to visit for several months, with well-drawn characters living through their thought-provoking questions and dilemmas. I knew I wanted to read it again, and here is my chance. I remember back then that occasionally when I was the one doing the reading I could not help being so rude as to stop suddenly (with apologies) because I really needed to underline a passage.

When I took my fat paperback off the shelf this week I looked inside to see just what had seemed so compelling at the time. It’s certain that of context of the whole novel I don’t recall the characters well enough at this point to fully appreciate how wise was the author’s assessment of their character and inner lives.

So I’m returning to Middlemarch, pretty confident that I will find it a rich exploration, and I’m not waiting for May, to start reading. What with all my underlining and pausing to think, I will be a slow reader as usual. So let the journey begin! Would you like to join us?

Derived from people and heights.

I can’t help analyzing this poem a bit….. I am a book-lover, and if I didn’t know that the dead will be resurrected in glory, I might have liked to write this poem:

AND YET THE BOOKS

And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“We are,” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters. So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant,
Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.

-Czeslaw Milosz