Celebrating St. Joseph's Day

We celebrated the feast of St. Joseph yesterday! With cream, and cheese, and squid. It was absolutely amazing. St. Joseph got his prominent place at the table, with bread and salt around him, candles, and a little silk bird to call in the springtime.
 

I've really been thinking this year, especially after all the Catholic negativity toward St. Valentine's day. Why do we neglect our own feast days - St. Joseph's , St. Valentines' - in favor of greeting-card holidays? I've never been particularly passionate about Mother's and Father's Day. Mother's Day tends toward the sappy and Father's Day is too often just pathetic. Another excuse for women to remind their husbands just how much less than motherhood they value fatherhood. 

But St. Joseph's day has the potential to be a richer 'father's' day. A time to bless the men in our lives with love and honor, and not just the fathers. St. Joseph is a universal patron: of men, of families, of workers, of virgins, of the church. His day is a celebration of a good man's life - a life lived in obedience to God. It's the calling of every man. Father's day is for father's only, but our lives are full of men deserving a feast of their own. Husbands, brothers, friends - men who may or may not ever have children of their own, but who - like St. Joseph - have turned their lives into  living Icons.

So we set up the table, and set out some gifts. I'd intended to give gifts to Seth, but Yarrow seemed to think that on our family patron's day, we ought all get gifts, so we did. Little gifts for her and me, and a larger one for our man.

We put the presents on the altar - Yarrow's present on her own little altar, and when Seth came home from work we opened them, drank coffee with cream, and feasted on good food and a quiet night together. Then we prayed the Litany of St. Joseph before bed, and left the Icon's candle burning through the night, to keep the dark at bay and bless the transition back from feast to fast.

How do you celebrate the Feast of St. Joseph?

Quotidian Notes: Promised Warmth and Rebounding

I'm still recovering from the 7 days of blogging we did last week..as well as recovering from a return to normal schedule this week - I miss vacation! I miss having Seth home all day. Our goal for next winter is to actually take the whole winter off: Christmas through March. I'm determined to do it right this year.

Yarrow's Altar

It's 9 am and I'm only on my second cup of coffee - I consider that a win! But the Fast didn't begin well for me this year at all..Wednesday was not the delightfully focused and holy day I'd hoped for (all my own fault, really). I started back on focused Lent yesterday. Not with perfection, but with all the right steps. The house was clean, the altar refreshed, Yarrow and I started our Lenten Prayer time together, and I began to feel connected to the fast. I think it'll be a good season after all..a hard season - I've been too indulgent for too long; but a good and holy season, focused on love. 

It is a retreat season for me. A quiet time of reflection. But reflection and quite are a little too indulgent for me this season - so as I focus on love this Lent, I'll also be focusing on reaching out more to those I love. It would be so easy for me to stay tucked away with Seth and Yarrow and Luba..writing to dear friends occasionally and forgetting the world around me. But I'm to be in the world, unfortunately, and that calls me to reach out. So I'm searching for a balance. A way to live this worldly monasticism I need - avoid creating the hermitage I crave and step out sometimes. So we'll be writing more letters, Yarrow and I; walking down the road when the weather allows it; calling family and those poor, neglected friends of mine; and working into our prayer time a special time for her best-loved friends. We have a rock on her tiny altar from my sister and her husband. Yarrow loves it - she holds it and we pray for Ciocia Laura and Wujek Charles - we nestle their rock between Christ and His Mother, light a candle, and let them rest in Love.

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The Virgin is primary this Lent. I've devoted my year to her, and still I'm surprised at how she infuses herself. I've moved the family Icon to a more primary place on the altar. Today Petka and I will write out paper prayers to tuck around her like tiny birds. I'd love to add your intentions, if you'd like to share them. 

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I've finished my second cup - it's sort of devastating. I'm trying to keep to two cups a day. It's time to switch back to tea. I started the day with a small pot of Tulsi tea..holy basil..it is supposed to be energizing. Coffee is energizing. Tulsi is very nice though. Very fresh.

Is is wrong that I was thrilled to discover my Raw Jersey Cream would be unavailable throughout Lent (it's the slow season at the farm). No one can have it. I'm feeling impiously smug about the forced lenten fast for all Raw Cream addicts. I know it's wrong, but I am glad.

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Today is a fasting day. We've had oatmeal with honey, pumpkin seeds, flax seed, and dried apricots - it's decadent for a fast day, but it has to last until supper. I fill up on tea instead - shooting covetous glances at the pot of soup from last night: Red lentils and curry, coconut milk, cinnamon, garlic. Na'an without oil so Seth can take it for lunch today. Rhythm is a gift. I'm more aware of the time. I know the day: Fridays belong to Paraskeva. We will leave her the small na'an Yarrow rolled out last night - lumpy and hard, but full of confident love.

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My Lenten series on Modesty begins this Tuesday! I'm really looking forward to absorbing the wisdom of the women around, opening up conversations, and growing together. Thanks for joining me in it!

Rural Catholics, Urban Parish..Life on the Outskirts

My husband and I have been trying to make regular confessions. Ideally, once every other week to once a month. We come and go a lot between home and town, so really, it shouldn't be so difficult, right? 

But it is difficult. Really difficult. It's difficult in part, because the confessions times are not designed with a working schedule in mind: 3 or 4pm on weekdays. We can never make these times for confession (except for last week! Vacation has so many benefits!). In general though, even if Seth gets off work early, he first has to go home to collect Yarrow and me, then drive into town. And we absolutely must arrive at least 10 minutes early, or else the line will be too long to actually make a confession before the allotted time is up. Saturdays are usually our only option. Saturdays are usually also our only option for splitting and stacking firewood, clearing snow, and hauling trash to the dump; or in summer, it's the only time to extend the pig pen, cut firewood, repair building..all sorts of upkeeping-sorts-of-tasks..It get's difficult, but generally we manage, and we're grateful our priest try so hard to make confession available to those of us who do have to do more than dart down the road and into the confessional.

But there's more to parish-life than Liturgy and confession..This year the Feast of St. Blaise was on a Monday, and the blessing was available only at the 7 am Mass. Seven am, on a Monday. I resented all the little old ladies in town with nothing to keep them from blessed and happy throats..

The point of all my little complaints is this:

"The rural family must regain it's place at the heart of the social order." said Pope Benedict, and yet how can we when to participate in the social life and sacraments of the Church, we have to pretend to be and live in the same rhythm as the urban and suburban families around us?

It's a question I'm not even close to answering. Suburban families have many needs, and I certainly don't want them ignored..but as more and more families flee the towns and cities for rural life (and we know so many making similar journeys into the country), the parish will have to adjust in some way or the rural family will have no real place in the social order of the Church, only an indirect and uncertain one - darting into parish life when we can and missing out on the heart of things.
  

Poppies and Christ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I've been promising photos of my newest ink..

 

 

Seth and I went together two days before St. Valentine's - to the artist we adore. My crucifix is old (my first tattoo). I got it at 18, in a Detroit studio, with giggling, uncomfortable friends, and a taciturn artist. John has started going over it to connect Christ  better with His poppies. 

Poppies symbolize death and resurrection, and the blood of Christ. Mine will be red someday, but right now I like seeing them as open lines - with Jesus nestled among them. 

Święconka

Święconka - the blessing of the the Easter food on Holy Saturday is a tradition I try hard to keep up here in the Northeast - where the nearest church for it is an hour away. This year, it was also a lesson in the beauty of imperfection - my basket lacked bread, baba, and kiełbasa (embarrassing! But at least I had ham); I was almost later for the service because I tried to get kiełbasa and got caught in awful traffic, and I may or may not have lost my favorite hat in town. But Yarrow delighted in the blessing, brought her own tiny basket of chocolate and a much-love cheese, and we frolicked together in the spring sunshine, anticipating the Resurrection. I love the whole experience of Święconka, and honestly, I’ve never actually eaten Easter food that hadn’t been blessed, as far as I know. I want my daughter to have that, to have the click of consonants around her as the prayers are said, the scent of meats and breads in the air, the anticipation, and the touching mystery..and I want it for myself, always. We sang along with Christian pop, waved at birds, and hugged the poor Infant of Prague closer on the trip, and came home again with blessings to share. Wesołego Alleluja! 

Clinging to God and Guns

I live among the woods and streams of Maine. My nearest neighbor - out of sight and sound - is out of town most of the weekend, and when my husband is away it is only myself and the dog to fight whatever wild-things hide among the trees. When we first settled here, my father gave me a gun to use against the coyotes, the (rumored) bears, the hidden wildcat that cries on dark nights.. We've never used it, the animals stay away. Out here alone, and with a road that could easily delay any help that might come to me, I’ve considered adding another gun, something designed less for hunting, but the consideration never matured into an actual intention, uneasiness delayed it. Do I want such a thing? Do I need such a thing? Is such a tool and the attitude and intentions that would accompany it something that would further my faith? There is a tendency in many situations to see how much is permitted, rather than pursuing the ideal. Self-defense is permitted, and I could say, “I will buy a gun for self-defense” and be within the letter of the law. Just as a nation could stockpile nuclear arms with an aim toward ‘self-defense,’ yet the Church tells us that such a form of self defense is morally suspect and “risks aggravating [the causes of war]”. The Church is clear in teaching that “over-armament” in individuals as well as in nations “multiplies reasons for conflict and increases the danger of escalation.” (CCC 2315) And so I wavered, muddled up in wondering - what is over-armament in an individual?

Early this year, a friend directed me to these statements by Cardinal Dolan and The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops:

 For me, regulating and controlling guns is part of building a Culture of Life,of doing what we can to protect and defend human life. The easy access to guns, including assault weapons, that exists in our nation has contributed towards a Culture of Death, where human life and dignity are cheapened by the threat of violence. (Cardinal Dolan)

Since such a significant number of violent offenses are committed with handguns and within families, we believe that handguns need to be effectively controlled and eventually eliminated from our society. We acknowledge that controlling the possession of handguns will not eliminate gun violence, but we believe it is an indispensable element of any serious or rational approach to the problem. (USCCB 1978, reiterated)

I respect these men as my superiors - both within the Church, as shepherds and in education, as men devoted to the study of faith and morals. Their words gave me a good deal to think about, to pray about, and to discuss. The first two were easy, but the last..I learned quickly that all discussion of gun-ownership must break down into ‘liberal’ and ‘conservative’, and in offering the Church's perspective, I fell on the ‘liberal’ side - an ally of President Obama and well outside the acceptable boundaries of the Culture of Life. It’s this aspect of American Catholic culture that gives me serious concern. Our bishops call us to hold a “consistent life ethic”. They call us to reject a culture that allows abortion, that treats individuals as objects, that cheapens love and commitment..and we agree - passionately, until they tells us that our “consistent life ethic” doesn’t encourage an individualized arms race; then it seems we remind them that our first loyalty is to the second amendment, to an Americanized ideal of self-defense, and to our own love of that sense of self-reliance that the power to kill gives. What aspect of Catholic culture indicates that the bishops are our shepherds in moral life except where they conflict with the ideals of the political right? Shouldn’t we rather let our faith direct us? Shouldn’t we give some obedience to these good and holy men, who have offered their lives to guide us ever closer to the heart of Christ? Obedience given only when it aligns with our personal tendencies is not the sort that saints are born of.

I am not arguing that all guns are evil, they are tools, but they are tools that tend to build an attitude of violence, and we are not a culture that can stand more violence. I am just wondering, why can we not attempt to cling to God alone, whose love is unending, and with whom all things are possible.

Creche - made by my husband

 

 

 

 

Autumn Passing

October has faded away and today, the Feast of All Saints, is gray and leafless. The recent storm has torn down most of the dying leaves and many pine needles and weak branches as well. The stream is high and fast again, as it always seems to be after October’s rain, and I’m feeling the pull to nestle in to my home again, and to return to my writing. I’ve been absent here for most of the month: too wrapped up in this fleeting season to share my thoughts. We’ve spent Sunday afternoons walking the woods, posting against hunters and revisiting favorite spots. We’ve harvested the cabbage for sauerkraut and the beets for borscht, brought in manure from a local farm to bulk up the soil, and set a date with death for our delightful pigs. I won’t miss them too badly, they woke me at midnight last night with their grumbling and fussing.

 

November is colder, already it feels harsher than October; a month of retreat and reflection.We’re looking forward to a Thanksgiving at home this year, with a turkey in our own oven and visiting friends on the days that follow. I love the abundance of November saints, today’s All Saints to begin the month, and St. Andrew’s at the end of the month. Lovely days of magic and power. All Soul’s is tomorrow, another day I love. It’s a day I always associate with my mother’s mother, who gave me her recipes after death and hovers ‘round me in my daily tasks to offer her encouragement. On All Soul’s I burn my candles for her and the others, our beloved dead. Put their photos and relics on the altar and welcome them home.

We’ve brought home a bathtub for the cold nights ahead. A beautiful claw-foot tub to clean and paint and soak in all evening while the snow falls outside. It was a gift from some lovely friends, who happened to have it in their basement. I’m so grateful for good friends and a chance to bathe in comfort.



Happy Hunting Season!

I hope to have more to say this month, more photos to share, and the quiet joy of watching the seasons shift to share with you all.

The Simplicity Project: Fasting

The Dormition Fast begins tomorrow, and in pursuit of my goals, the first of which being relationship with God, I’m participating for the first time in years. It’s a difficult fast to do because there really isn’t a cultural context for it here in New England, where we don’t have even one Byzantine parish. But this year I’m determined, and Seth excited as well. We’ll be giving up meat, alcohol, milk and cream -but not cheese and eggs, - sugar, and desserts.

The benefits of fasting are huge, and not just in a spiritual sense. Fasting is really an ideal way to bring our meals into an attitude of simplicity - at least temporarily. To cleanse and refocus the table. An aspect of my simplicity project I’ll be focusing on especially during the Dormition fast is the beautification of the table, and regularizing meals. I have a tendency to allow distractions to interfere with creating meals that are “holy times”, meals that are “alive with the goodness of God” as Cardinal Ratzinger (now Pope) encourages.

So, here we go. Fasting along to a simpler, better rhythm in our mealtimes!

Simplicity

This article has given me a lot to think about in the building of our domestic monastery. I am taking much of his advice, working with each suggestion, one after the other, as they relate to our life here, and our goals for life and land. His first suggestion: make a list of the four or five “most important things” - values, goals, priorities. What are they, and how are they placed in my life?

1. God. My primary value, goal, and priority is relationship with him. Now, and ongoing.

2. My family falls right below God. But what does that mean, exactly? I mean that my relationship to my husband, our life together is something I value more than anything but my relationship to God. Along with that - a part of it, and only slightly below it is my relationship to my daughter. The whole of it, our family life together, our shared solitude and shared community are priorities in my life, and I work hard to make them living priorities.

3. Beauty. A quick description would be that this is my commitment to building a life that embraces and nourishes beauty in the world. A clean home, a life full of books, and growing things, time for play all fall into this.

4. Art. Sort of a sub-group of beauty, but with a need to carve out a space of it’s own, art refers primarily to my writing and pottery goals.

5. Building a natural, semi-self-sufficient life. The homestead, gardens, animals, herbalism, food and fabric. Hugely time consuming, I know, but it isn’t time spent on nothing, it’s time spent enjoying my land, growing it, nourishing it, and crafting it into a thing of beauty.

Resurrection

Blessed Easter!

Home Altar

My husband gave me a statue of the Virgin for Christmas - for the home altar. It’s similar to the one my grandmother had, which spent a year or two in my room after she died. I love the image, I love the dark blue of my Madonna’s robe, and the bright green of the serpent under her feet.

Our altar has an abundance of Christs. The Infant of Prague wears a medal Yasha’s godmother gave her on the feast of St. Nikolas, five small Icons of Him rest on the altar, and small, baby Jesus rests in the arms of our St. Joseph statue. Behind the altar, on the Icon wall, Christ is under-represented. I’ve been on the hunt for an Icon of Him I can place above all the others.

We like to decorate our altar with offerings. Plants, feathers, beads, and coins. Small things for the saints, and to remind them of our needs. I lean my broom beside St. Paraskeva, the domestic saint, who will hopefully keep it full and strong. St. Anthony collects the abandoned earring in a pair when the other has gone missing. At night, with candles burning and incense rising, it is a lovely sight.

St. Paraskeva

Yarrow's nameday was last Friday, the 28th, and we were able to celebrate it well, with a bonfire, cider, lots of light and a bright starry sky. I was thrilled that the feast-day was on Friday this year, because St. Paraskeva is the saint of Fridays, of preparation for Sunday's glory, of anticipation and hope. She is the saint of the home, of women's work, and the soil. Stories tell of St. Paraskeva rushing in to punish women who neglect their duties, absent mothers, lazy home-makers. She tends to bless and punish through the eyes, and in her icon, she is shown with eyes on a plate. Her holy oil is especially for treating afflictions of the eyes, I've no idea why.

St. Paraskeva has many feast-days, one, I think for each of the countries in which she's popular. The 28th of October is her Russian feast-day, and since I met her through the Russians I hold that one. Yarrow's grandparents gave her an Icon of Paraskeva on her first day. The party was fun, she spent the majority of it eating or asleep, but love was all around, and it made the night richer.

Just about a month ago we baptized Yarrow. I don't actually have any photos from the baptism. People were taking photos, but we didn't, we just barely made to the church in time, and afterwards, just barely made it home in time for the party. But her lovely garments are still around for photographs. My mom made the

 bonnet to match the lace she had made for my wedding dress, which we cut up and used as the baptismal dress. I coated both the dress and Yarrow herself with amber.

After a month of slow gaining,Yarrow is now getting nice and heavy, and hopefully she'll be able to keep it up without getting too fat! As the nights have been getting chillier (it feels like September already) she's waking up to eat more often. I think we'll have to start up the stove at night pretty soon.

I'm hoping she lets me do the very intense autumn cleaning I have planned for early September. I also hope the weather stays reasonably nice long enough for us to have a good, long, autumn harvest, because I really want more beets and tomatoes!

So..what are we drinking guys?