“The world thinks that when someone becomes a monk in a monastery, he leaves society and becomes wild. They say this because they are unaware that monks are the most sociable of human beings. You should know that no one can become a monk if he is not sociable, that is, if he cannot communicate and deal openly and directly with all the difficulties encountered in a life shared with others. If a man has had difficulties in marrying or establishing a family, chances are he won’t be a good monk. He must feel secure in his life. Monasteries are not places of refuge. Consequently, a monk is someone who may have formerly attained success in such relationships, and loved them, too, and thus he doesn’t reject them, he doesn’t condemn them, he doesn’t despise them, but rather prefers something superior for himself.”
-Elder Aimilianos of Simonopetra, in The Church at Prayer: The Mystical Liturgy of the Heart
For it is the God who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. -II Corinthians 4:6
My priest mentioned in a homily recently that the verse above was his favorite; of course that made me pay close attention to it. Soon afterward I read an article by the iconographer Aidan Hart, “Lighting in Orthodox Churches: Liturgical Principles and Practical Ideas,” which has kept me thinking on this Light … and I’m certain I could benefit from further meditation on Hart’s ideas — because they flow from the truth that Christ Himself stated, that He is The Light of the World.
How do we reflect this reality symbolically when choosing physical lighting for our churches? And how might lighting help us to worship or distract us? If any of these questions is interesting to you, you might like to read the whole article, which I have linked above and below. Or skip the text and look only at the more than two dozen photographs of most beautiful churches and monasteries — and one mosque — illustrating the principles that Hart discusses. I especially loved the photo showing alabaster windows such as this one:
Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, Ravenna
Hart reminds us that “The Church is ultimately a community of persons and not a building.” It follows that “Its light should illuminate the personal rather than the abstract.” He compares the needs of monasteries to those of parish churches, and The Blue Mosque to Hagia Sophia. The pros and cons of natural light, candles, oil lamps and electric lights are discussed; he explains how an environment with quiet light can help us to “learn the art of stillness, watchfulness, interiority.”
I’ll close with one paragraph that is rich with theological principles worth musing on, and leave you to click on the link for the whole article:
The second century neo-Platonist Plotinus wrote that “beauty is symmetry irradiated by life”. This was interpreted by the Byzantines as symmetry irradiated by light, for light was regarded an image of divine, animating and transfiguring life. But this Byzantine aesthetic of moving rather than static light was ultimately rooted in Trinitarian theology. The uncreated light of divine love is One, but it is also dynamic, moving within the Trinity and moving down to creation. Of course the term moving is a human concept and is ultimately inapplicable to God, who has no need to move from place to place. But the term is applicable inasmuch as it reminds us that God is not a single monad, that God is love because He is Three. Christian beauty is therefore rooted in relationship rather than an abstract and static ideal. And this can be reflected in church lighting.
By the Word of the Lord the heavens were made (Psalm 33:6) God made everything, man from dust, etc. So why would changing water to wine at Cana be difficult?
“…for our nature, weakened by sin, it is an unattainable miracle. Yet, isn’t the working of miracles the usual occupation of the Creator? When the servants filled the six large vessels with water, the Lord Christ said to them: Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast (John 2:8). He did not even say, ‘Let the water become wine,’ he merely thought it. For God’s thoughts have the same power as His words.
“Why is it said that this was the ‘beginning of miracles,’ when it appears that, long before this miracle, the Lord worked other miracles? Because, brethren, the changing of water into wine is the fundamental miracle of Christ, and is the essence of all His miracles. Human nature was diluted with its own tears, and it was necessary to change it into wine. The divine spark in man was extinguished, and it was necessary to rekindle it. Infirmity is like water, health is like wine; the impurities of the evil spirits are like water, purity is like wine; death is like water, life is like wine; ignorance is like water, truth is like wine. Hence, whenever the Lord made the sick whole, the impure pure, the dead alive, and prodigals enlightened, He essentially turned water into wine.”
-St. Nikolai Velimirović
Read the entire homily here (scroll down to the bottom): Prologue of Ohrid
Miracle at Cana, Castel d’Appiano, Italy, 13th century.
“There is a cruelty that lurks in the human heart: to speak ill of the dead. They lie silent, their mouths shut by the grave, unable to repent, unable to defend themselves. And yet our tongue, restless and unbridled, digs into the soil to unearth their sins. Scripture cuts us off: ‘Do not speak ill of one who has died, for we are all to be numbered among the dead’ (Sirach 8:7). To spit on a corpse is to spit on your own grave.”
By the Word of the Lord the heavens were made (Psalm 33:6) God made everything, man from dust, etc. So why would changing water to wine at Cana be difficult?
Gladsome Lights 