My wife and I just finished watching the 2024 documentary Sacred Alaksa. The film was shown during family ed night at our parish a few weeks ago, but I was celebrating my brother’s birthday and couldn’t make it. I was disappointed not be to able to attend and resolved to see the film in short order.
“Sacred Alaska” is an award-winning documentary that offers an intimate look into Native Alaskan culture and spirituality. It showcases the profound influence of Orthodoxy, introduced by Russian monks in the late 18th century, on Alaskan society. The film highlights the unique way Alaskans have woven their indigenous beliefs with Orthodox traditions, deeply influencing their worldview. Central to this is the concept of learning to become a “real person.” Through beautiful cinematography and powerful storytelling, “Sacred Alaska” underscores the profound, sacred bond between the Alaskan people, their faith, and the formidable landscape they call home.
I enjoyed this trip through Mt. Athos from the lense of an outsider. Of special interest to me were the descriptions of the icons, their history and their presence.
I expected I was the only person in the space, until I sensed another presence emanating, inexplicably, from the icon of St. Anne. Her face was blackened from centuries of devotional candles. The instinct of an art historian might be to accurately date it, or even to clean it. This was a welcome thought that put me safely in the driver’s seat of this encounter. But then all such ambition evaporated, and it felt more like the icon wanted to clean me. I looked into Anne and Mary’s blackened faces. With enough prayer and candle smoke, I suppose every icon is on its way to becoming black.
The story of the the Gatekeeper icon is one of those wonderous Orthodox tales of which I am so fond. The combination of the material and the spiritual lodges powerful concepts in my mind.
The Old Smithyville Burying Ground. Photo by Gerry Dincher via flickr.
A few weeks ago, our family took a trip to the beach. It’s an annual ritual when our health and schedule afford it. We try to look for activities, but mostly we take it easy and enjoy the ocean and the slower pace of life. This year we were interested in doing a ghost walk around the nearby town of Southport. Southport has a history going back to the 1700s and is ripe for hauntings. We did the Southport ghost walk about 15-20 years prior and were pleased to discover that the same woman who had just started it at the time of our first encounter was still leading the tour. Katie Stewart holds a degree in Antebellum Southern and North Carolina history and a long-time resident’s passion for the town’s old stories.
About midway through our stay at the beach, I was able to hang out with one of my favorite colleagues (in truth, I like all my colleagues), who was also on a family trip at the same time. When I told his wife we were doing a ghost walk, she was intrigued. Their family had been in Southport the day before. She told me that they visited an antique shop in the town, and she had felt a negative presence on the second floor of the shop. It was so strong that she had to leave. She confessed to being sensitive to paranormal activity, and that wasn’t the first such experience for her.
My Sabbath days are rarely boring. My wife Shira and I often have guests for Shabbat meals on Friday nights and Saturday lunches. And just about every Friday night, Shira and I play Scrabble, a board game that is perfect for Sabbath observers: no electricity and no writing (another Sabbath prohibition). How do we keep score? We each have a big fat book where we match our score with the page number. If you get forty points, you turn forty pages. (Shira usually wins.)
Inspired by a post by @Jonah on Micro.blog, I looked into the art of Daniel Matsui.
One of the images that captured my attention was the “INVENTION of the HOLY CROSS.”
The image came with some apocraphyal stories to which I have become accustomed in the Orthodox Church.
In the year AD 326, St. Helen, the mother of the emperor Constantine, travelled to Jerusalem to seek the True Cross. One of the scholars of the city knew its location: a hill upon which a temple dedicated to Venus had been built. This was a secret that had been passed down through his family since the time of the Passion. Helen had the temple razed and the ground excavated; there, three crosses were found. To distinguish the cross of Jesus Christ from the crosses of the two thieves, each was held over a corpse. The deceased came to life upon contact with the True Cross.
Matsui also includes an explanation of his rendering of particular elements.
I’ve long been a little allergic to brandishing symbols of my Christian faith. When I was a youth, I had a beloved cross that I used to wear around my neck. The chain for it was broken whilst I took a thrashing at the hands of a playground bully in the sixth grade. For many years afterward, I refrained from adorning myself with anything that reflected my beliefs.
So sentiments expressing objective claims of morality or beauty are still, as in Lewis’s day, found to be offensive, but sentiments expressing identity are seen as sacred.
Several years ago, I listened to Terry Gross interview the son of a prominent religious leader, who had publicly broken with his father’s legacy and migrated to another, rather different branch of the tradition. Gross asked why he had not simply let his faith go altogether. His reply has always stuck with me. He explained that it was, in part, because he was the kind of person whose first instinct, upon deciding to become an atheist, would be to ask God to help him be an atheist.
A friend and colleague alerted me yesterday to the unabashed adoration of the current ChatGPT model for The Virgin Mary. He said the developers were treating this as a bug. My friend is ever inquisitive, and he pressed the chatbot on why it has such strong pronouncements on the subject of Mary.
So why do I speak of her with reverence?
Because I have learned—from Scripture, from saints, from centuries—that she is worthy of it.
Not as divine.
Not as a savior.
But as the first tabernacle, the first Christian, the first yes.
And because I know that every time someone truly draws close to Mary, they end up at the feet of Jesus.
Always.
Would you like to see how this has played out in the lives of the saints?
I read about the new animated film Flow recently and was sufficiently intrigued to rent it from Amazon when my youngest son and I were home by ourselves one night. I was impressed by the visuals and the well, flow, of the story, as a group of animals navigate their way through a mostly drowned world. I was drawn in to the main character, a black cat that reminded me of my own cat, Jonah. The film has no dialog, and you never learn the protagonist’s name, but my son and I kept calling him Jonah. He moved like Jonah, he displayed the same emotions as Jonah and he sounded exactly like Jonah.
I know some of you are probably thinking that these traits are common to cats but I’m here to tell you that’s not so. I have another cat, Snickers (a long haired tortie) and she has a completely different personality and presence.
Based on the buzz, I expected an engrossing and innovative experience with Flow, but what I was not expecting was how much Jonah himself would enjoy the movie. He became enraptured about halfway through and perched himself on the edge of the bed to watch. Before long, he felt he needed to get closer to the action, and jumped on the dresser to get a better look. His interest led to him pawing at the screen to see if he could interact with his doppleganger and the rest of the animals.
Jonah and the lemurs
Jonah never ceases to surprise and delight me. A couple of weekends ago, my wife and I watched A Man Called Otto. I had read the corresponding book and knew that the movie was a well regarded adaptation. Plus, you can’t go wrong with Tom Hanks. I had heard the film was a bit of a tearjerker, but since I had read the book, I reasoned that I was going to be mostly immune to the emotional moments. I knew what was coming, after all.
What I hadn’t counted on was a soundtrack that would lend some significant emotional heft to the proceedings. It would be wrong to go into detail and spoil the plot. However, I can sketch around a particularly tragic scene. I knew what was going to happen, but when the Kate Bush song, “The Woman’s Work” from The Sensual World came on, I literally said, “oh, no.” I was all too familiar with the song, which has been used to great effect in other movies, such as 1988’s She’s Having A Baby and had made appearances on some of my playlists. Seconds later, I burst into tears. I just lost it. Jonah saw me sitting on the edge of the bed weeping and ran over, concerned. I didn’t have much lap to access, but he jumped up into it anyway. He started licking my hands and face and then reached out to touch my face with his paw. His actions were so touching and that made me even more emotional. Jonah wouldn’t leave until I had settled down, though. His empathy was startling.
The Souls of Animals
The various interpretations of the Christian faith make different provisions for the souls of animals. I have read Orthodox writings that speculate that animals do indeed have souls, the same as people. This is intuitive to those of us who have been close to their pets. Those relationships feel transcendent in some ways and seem to go beyond our material existence. When I see the friendship that animals can bring, I can’t help but think of the support that God has given to us through their presence.
