Book review: The Divine Liturgy: When Heaven and Earth are one

As an Evangelical preacher's kid, Sunday worship was this: three drum-and-electric guitar and keyboard pop-rock worship songs, pulsing stage lights and haze from a smoke machine, a sermon and a quarterly and self-served "communion" of oyster crackers and grape juice.

Then, three years ago, I attended Divine Liturgy at an Eastern Orthodox church. I was inundated by the flickering light of candles, incense, icons, vestments, chants and singing, ancient prayers -- true reverence that engaged all the senses -- and stirred the spirit.

In "Orthodox Worship: A Living Continuity with the Synagogue, the Temple, and the Early Church," co-authored Benjamin D. Williams and the late Harold B. Anstall, I learned it was all that . . . and much, much more.

I experienced this work as Ancient Faith's newly updated, audiobook format (https://store.ancientfaith.com/orthodox-worship-audiobook/). At just under 6 and a half hours long, it was the perfect devotional companion for my daily walks.

Striding down forested trails flanked by meadows and streams, I was easily able to immerse myself in the history of how today's Orthodox Christian worship as a continuation, and fulfillment, of the Jewish temple and synagogue liturgical practices Christ's first disciples and apostles knew from their childhoods.

Deacon Kenneth Timothy's engaging and passionate narration conveys both authors' deep faith, as well as his own. In this way, the book becomes something more than words on a page or eBook reader; it is a conversation with a friend and spiritual brother.

This is a book aimed at the layperson, but no less complete in its theological exploration or attention to details of the Divine Liturgy's content and ancient symbolism and rituals, culminating in Holy Communion, the mystical yet real joining of heaven and earth in true worship.

The Divine Liturgy, at its inspired and best, is not a spiritual spectator's sport. To merely listen, occasionally make the sign of the cross, get in line for Eucharist and then leave unchanged within, is a tragic waste.

The blessing comes with participation, Williams and Anstall stress. Given the invitation for a foretaste of the Kingdom of God, along with the saints and angels, why would we not?

Nature's Communion: A sacramental trail walk with my fellow creatures

Early on a spring day, the trees full of leaves, their canopies of green dripping and bowed low along the Jordan River Trail after a pre-dawn rain, a light breeze kisses Cottonwood, Oak and Aspen with whispers of the divine.

"In Him we live and move and have our being . . . ." (Acts 17:28)

The dogs are quiet, too, uncommon slack in their leashes, as if also aware of something special in the air. And so, we commune, we three creatures of the Creator.


Surrounded, caressed, embraced, and filled with life. I have entered a moment where time and space blink, as if awaiting a reset.


We are, in this moment, sacramental. 

The limbs of trees sway. My thoughts fill with images from this past Sunday's Liturgy, and the Eastern Orthodox Christian Great Entrance. Our priests, deacons and altar boys moved through rows of bowed heads, the cross, the bread, and the wine both their guide and blessed burden.


Intercessory prayers were said for all, as the procession wound back toward the altar. Parishioners gently touched the priestly robes, in reverence and veneration not for the man, but by proxy of Christ the God-Man.


Along the river, we creatures, two- and four-legged, proceed slowly as a sea of green seemingly parts before us. Leaves, moved by a gust, brush my face.


Ours is no Great Entrance, but is it a communion? At least, for me, it is an "iconic" experience, this walking through a window on a distantly reflected paradise.


I remove the black woolen chotki from my wrist, and pray, thumb and finger moving the knots in silence.


Loved ones, departed, and living; both friends, and those who counted me a foe in years passed; my own, flawed, and stained soul, all receive entreaties for the mercy of heaven, here and in the life to come.


So, we walk, melting into grace.

An Akathist for Jesus Christ, and my Dad

In the Eastern Orthodox tradition and practice, those mourning a departed loved one often pray the "Akathist to Jesus Christ for a Loved One Who has Fallen Asleep."

A long title, and a long prayer, too, begun on the day of death and continued through 40 days. It is intended as comfort for the departed, but it is also that for those mourning, as I am learning.

And, it is beautiful; its imagery poetic, its words both emotionally and spiritually direct as its intentions are simple. It embraces the bitter and the sweet with arms of compassion, and hope.
Being Orthodox for less than two years, this is all new to me. But I'm trying to fulfill this for my father, who passed away on Thursday last . . . and for myself, at 65 still an infant in this ancient, predenominational Christian faith.

There are many phrases, petitions and praises within the Akathist that are moving and beautiful. But this following portion continues to stand out as I say it, watching candles flicker and incense drift past the crucifix on my wall and out a window:

"When earthly sojourning is ended, how graceful is the passing to the world of the Spirit; what contemplation of new things, unknown to the earthly world, and of heavenly beauties. The soul returns to its fatherland, where the bright sun, the righteousness of God, enlightens those who sing: Alleluia!"

Certainly, there are many such prayers for the dead in our various faiths. Years ago, I joined in the Mourner's Kaddish in support of a Jewish friend who had lost her father. And as a reporter many years ago, I participated in a Ute sweat lodge ceremony in which a native friend blessed his ancestors.

People in every culture seem to have the innate desire to seek comfort from a compassionate, loving realm of the holy.

It is not for me to judge the effectiveness of anyone's acts of faith, nor need I accept, even if I respect, the cosmos-view behind them. I have, and firmly hold my own; I trust in God's love and compassion to judge me, and them, by what Truth we have and honor.

Love, and our common humanity, should mean something precious to all of us -- no matter how convinced we are of our particular path.

The rest of it is a mystery, and if we say we believe in God, then that should come with the humility of admitting we do not know it all when it comes to such things as eternity, infinity, and immortality -- not even a crumb of it.

The true arena of faith, then, is in our hearts. We each struggle with our own shortcomings and pray/strive to improve and grow, or we surrender and excuse our flaws in self-delusion.
So, if faith rules within, it is expressed without.

My Dad showed me much, by example, in how to do that -- without judging the recipients of God's grace and ours, and in trying to love without conditions.

Now that he has passed, it seems little enough to pray for him. How it plays out "there," I don't know.

But at the very least, I am comforted that the ancient words of an ancient faith we shared are another way to say again, "I love you. I miss you. I will see you again."

Dad, I love you. We'll meet again in the Light and Love of Our Lord

On Jan. 17, 7:15 a.m. Pacific Time, my father, the Rev. Robert E. Mims Sr., passed away.

The staff at Cheney Care Center had put him next to my mother, who is also at the facility; they were holding hands, both asleep when he passed.

Dad was 96, and had declined rapidly in the past few months due to stroke-induced dementia and congestive heart failure.

He died peacefully, without pain or struggle.

He and Mom, who is in the last stage of Alzheimer's disease, were married 71 years.

I last saw my father in late November. He was unable to carry on conversation of more than short, simple sentences, but he remembered how to hug, and how to say he loved me. And when we prayed together before parting, he cried a little.

His last, halting words, along with expressing his love, were that when alone, he sometimes felt a presence standing next to him. Watching over him, he believed.

In my faith, there are angels. I pray, and also believe, that presence was with him this morning, too, for a journey into the Light and Love of Our Lord.

Dad, your humor, love for music, love for a simple gospel of forgiveness, compassion and personal sacrifice, are what I treasure most. You were a great father, in an age when so many children have none.

We will meet again and embrace where memories are perfect, understanding complete, and Love eternal.

Road to Orthodoxy: On a Holy Saturday . . .

For those interested, here is my story about my own conversion to Orthodox Christianity on the "Journey to Orthodoxy" website.

http://journeytoorthodoxy.com/2018/07/on-a-holy-saturday/