Pascha: A Retrospective

Orthodoxy, Stream of Consciousness, Noir, Pascha

It has been said that Pascha is a victorious kind of celebration of the Resurrection, with even Roman Catholic voices themselves stating that it is a distinctly different and perhaps less somber version of Western Easter.

In my five years as a Roman Catholic, the essence of Easter always struck me as bittersweet, with a slightly shifted focus being on the death on the cross, contemplating the feat of pain and strength that Christ endured as He died for our sins while taking human form. Unworthiness set in as a default, and I internalized a kind of conclusion that told me never to take the pain of our Savior for granted.

This runs parallel to the slight differences in language between East and West while describing what it means to “be saved” that eventually contributed to the Great Schism.

As Kallistos Ware documented in his text “A History of the Orthodox Church,” the splitting of East and West by the then Pagan Slavs saw the end of an Era when the entirety of the Mediterranean region spoke both Greek and Latin, thus beginning a more gradual divide that pre-dates the filioque.

In the West, to be saved means to be redeemed of one’s unworthiness.

In the East, it means to be further “Deified.”

Redemption versus Deification.

It is a slight difference in language, but it was in slight differences amplified over time that led to the most catastrophic internal event in the history of the Church that was the Great Schism.

Redemption is rooted in a slightly negative connotation, and not negative in the truly negative sense, but simply in being rooted in sin and being uprooted from sin through each and ever prayer every single day.

Deification or “Theosis” is the gradual transformation of becoming more “God-like” until the eventual end of life and hopeful ascension of the soul into the Kingdom of Heaven.

These subtle differences between East and West are more so the origin of the schism than any influence of Spain, Charlemagne, or Patriarch Photius.

The celebration of Pascha is a resounding expression of joy and victory regarding the single greatest triumph for humanity that was granted to us by our Lord. To be saved by our champion, the Son, sent by our maker, the Father.

When one holds a candle outside the gates of the church in San Francisco, Moscow, or Jerusalem, one is a part of unbridled release and unspeakable joy.

St. John Maximovitch of San Francisco led the flock of the Bay Area in worship and gratefulness to our Lord with a crowd that filled the Holy Virgin Cathedral and the majority of Geary boulevard in the outer Richmond District.

Patriarch Kyrill speaks to the largest of the Patriarchates in Holy Orthodoxy from the site of God’s final victory over the Soviet Union: The Cathedral of Christ the Savior.
In 1931, the eight year peak of the Soviet Union’s anti-religious policies began. That year saw the number of Orthodox churches in Russia go from 29,584 in the country to just under 500 through widespread demolition. Many of them were to be replaced by repulsive, Soviet collectivist architecture. In the same year, Joseph Stalin demolished the Cathedral on the Moskva River, originally commissioned by Tsar Alexander I as a celebration of Napoleon’s defeat and retreat in 1812. The replacement was to be a Soviet palace for the government with a gargantuan statue of Vladimir Lenin as its centerpiece.

Construction began in 1937, but it was halted due to the start of World War Two. Post-war efforts for the next twelve years were thwarted time and time again. Foundations collapsed, funds grew scarce, storms grew angry, and a flood swept the foundation in the late 1950s, resulting in an ultimate declaration of defeat for the project by Soviet Premier, Nikita Khrushchev, using the flooded area as The Soviet Union’s largest swimming pool.

Following the fall of the Soviet Union, in 1995, the construction of a new Cathedral in the same inhospitable site began, and on August 19, 2000, the Cathedral of Christ the Savior was completed. This Cathedral still stands, and one can only imagine the joy of Pascha in this place.

Even closer to the origins of the Orthodox Faith is the Miracle of the Holy Fire that remains in Jerusalem to this day.

For over a thousand years, on every Pascha, the Patriarch of Jerusalem has gone into the tomb of Christ alone with two unlit candles then emerging with them lit upon leaving the tomb. The fire is then shared to the those of the crowd holding candles of their own. The fire itself doesn’t actually burn what it touches. Many have attempted to debunk this annual miracle, claiming the priest could just have a lighter, but he is patted down by the secular guards of the city before entering, a tradition held since the time of Ottoman rule. The availability of instant fire starters is a relatively recent development as well, and an instant fire starter would be confiscated by the aforementioned secular guards. Another theory is that another priest sits on top of the tomb and through a hole in the roof, provides the necessary tools needed to light the candles. But in modern times, the roof is visible by the crowd, thus negating this theory. A Greek scientist demonstrated how placing phosphorus on a candle will cause it to light on its own after 25 minutes. This kind of fire however, still burns what it touches. Holy Fire does not. A joyous miracle in the site of the Resurrection itself.

I stood in none of these strongholds of the Faith during this year’s Pascha. Not in the historical stronghold of American Orthodoxy that is San Francisco. Not in the triumphant metropolis of Moscow. Not at the site of the Holy Resurrection in Jerusalem.

I stood in the city of Chicago, a place I am learning was built against its will, a city that is because it must be.

Chicago is where I was baptized, and it is a city that frustrates me, fascinates me, and perplexes me.

In this first Lenten fast following my baptism, I was the antithesis of not only a devoted Christian but an antithesis of discipline itself. There was a kind of ringing around my ears that never removed itself outside of the temple and outside the solace of prayer. This was no kind of drowning sensation, this was a white noise that perpetuated discord of the mind, an urge to rush without any merits for any kind of increase in pace, and a general inner monologue of self-hatred.

The threat of a problem arising at work overtook my mind, and I was rarely able to maintain the clarity of mind and sovereignty of space to properly find what I once called “the background world.”

The world looming in the background telling you the tide of the story unfolding in real time before your eyes. In reality, it’s almost as if this is where God dwells, where the Holy Spirit dwells, where the forces unseen work.

“That He may deliver His people from enemies both visible and invisible”

Enemies of God work in the form of the flesh. Joseph Stalin and his merciless work to destroy the roots of Faith in Russia were as real as the McDonalds that poisons America. But the spirits that work against the Lord are the spirits that poisons the mind, the spirits that whisper to themen of a darker intent.

Lent is a microcosm of the Faith, a time of heightened reality, a compressed timeline of the Christian struggle. The struggle of God allowing Christians to be put into spiritual harm’s way, bouts of suffering, and proximity of temptation. These are the spaces in which Christians have the opportunity to deepen their Faith. It is the exposure to the choice of closer to God or separation from God and choosing closeness that makes a Christian holier. It is not living in isolation from spiritual harms way that makes a Christian holy, only sheltered. During Lent, these opportunities are plentiful, but when distracted one experiences what is essentially an onslaught of spiritual suffering without relief.

When the duration of Lent is stretched out, the real timeline of life remains. There is still the exposure to spiritual harm that God allows, but the frequency of this is greatly minimized for baptized Christians. This highlights an “on/off” dynamic of the Christian default setting. There is God’s protection from spiritual harm, and there is God’s allowance of potential spiritual harm for the sake of opportunity to deepen one’s Faith. There is the protection and grace in the spiritual realm, and there is the trial of simply choosing God or choosing separation.

My choice in this past Lent was not, and the arrival of Pascha saw a far more somber essence in my reception of the feast that followed Nocturnes and Liturgy.

The reading of St. John Chrystostom’s homily on the acceptance of the grace of Pascha echoed the advice of my spiritual father to embrace the gifts and graces of God that all Christians are unworthy of. “Ready or not, Pascha is here.”

My heart in San Francisco just a year ago was consumed by a joy my words will never fully describe, as it was a joy that is but a glimpse into the full Glory of God through the eyes of my heart that was rooted in prayer. It matched the victorious nature of being fully immersed in the Resurrection with the literal thought emerging in my mind stating, “There is no Glory greater than this, this is the Resurrection that allows us back into the Kingdom of Heaven. This is the greatest joy a man can know.” It was in alignment with the resounding declaration of “CHRISTOS ANESTI!”

My heart in this year was that of a battered body crossing a poorly run marathon with little will and a bitterness regarding my own lack of devotion that needed to be quelled. It was a somber kind of victory, a half smile of knowing this was greater than any lack of prayer I was feeling through Lent, and in confession I was able to shake the internal wish of resetting the clock of Lent to “do Lent better.”

In reality “doing Lent better,” is less about the actions of man, but the willingness and devotion to stay in the presence of God to deepen the focus of prayer both in the formal prayers of books and services and in silence with God. The finest form of “exposure therapy.”

In the biographical text of St. John Maximovitch titled, “Lantern of Grace,” Vladika John had this to say regarding the final moments of the Paschal Liturgy before the feast:

“Our food shall be the Lamb of God on the holy and radiant night of His Resurrection. We pray about this even as we are just beginning to prepare for Great Lent, and then on numerous occasions during Great Lent, that the Lord would count us worthy to receive Communion on the night of Holy Pascha. On that night God’s grace is particularly active upon people’s hearts. As we commune with the risen Christ, we become participants in His Resurrection. Of course, if we have prepared earlier and received Communion during Great Lent, we should receive the Holy Mysteries again. Before the Paschal Liturgy there is no time to have an extensive confession; this should be done earlier. But on this light-bearing night, having received a general dispensation, we should approach the Divine Lamb—the assurance of our Resurrection. Let no one leave the church before the appointed time, rushing to taste the flesh of animals, instead of partaking of the Most Pure Body and Blood of Christ.”

In this text lies a subtext that describes a dynamic more men should recognize, staying in deep focus on the miracle of the Paschal communion as opposed to diluting this joy of the mind and heart with the thoughts of earthly celebration.

The most rejuvenated I had felt in a year was after taking the Eucharist that night, and it put an end to my suffering.

But this dynamic St. John of San Francisco described was one I longed to achieve even within joyous feasting with a blessing that is a stronghold of an Orthodox community in Chicago.

It was clear I was surrounded by devoted followers of Christ who had surrendered to Him in every discipline and circumstance, and their exampIe was humbling and calming. It is a rare thing to be surrounded by other young believers in the Orthodox Faith, and it is a fruit of Chicago, a city I have learned to love.

In this year it is clearly revealed that through the microcosm of Lent that there will be no solace for me outside of prayer in the long run, and that every decision made without it is fruitless. God could show me far less grace and would be more than wholly justified.

In the Vespers and feasting that came later in the day, I was able to shake the somber nature that reminded me of the Latin viewpoint of redemption over deification. In some senses this subtle difference isn’t one to be scared of, and perhaps it is a piece of Pascha that was lost after the Schism. After all, every Orthodox Christian is pained to feel one of its Patriarchates missing, gone for as long as it was present. Perhaps in the healing of the Schism in the future, one can internalize and seek after both sides of the same coin of growing closer to God: redemption and deification. More men should know both Latin and Greek.

Cigars, steaks, and Serbian pear brandy old fashioned amongst dear friends with the greatest reason to celebrate are also a blessing from God. Festivity followed my sorrowful joy in the night before. It’s simply selfish to be a stick in the mud amongst good friends and good news.

The night and fade into early morning that followed bore a return to this somber, brooding disposition with an affinity for the night’s quiet nature that has been present throughout my life.

Driving along the Lake Michigan coast with a dear friend detailing a fallen life in the past has one realize the bad habits he’s carried into his new life as a Christian.

Being alone is something I’ve craved my entire life, and I’ve perhaps internalized too much from Hemingway and Musashi.

As Hemingway noted in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech in 1954, “A writer does his best work alone.” While this is true, man was never truly meant to be in a permanent state of solitude whether literal or figurative. One can be alone in a crowd of 8 million people through no authentic interaction, an opting out of existence that tempted me in New York City, and one can believe the lie of the mountains that Nietzsche listened to.

This drive highlighted all of this too well, and upon waking later in the morning I fell horribly ill, vomiting my feast and purging this old notion that I can be alone forever.

Man was not meant to go through the struggles of Faith alone.

Our struggles are bound to others whether it be our spouse, a monastery, our family, or our stronghold in the Church.

Thank God for that.

Thank God for humility.

Thank God for Chicago.