Thursday, April 26, 2007
Deeply Embedded
Wednesday morning was the funeral for former Russian President Boris Yeltsin. That morning, as I drove in my car from a philosophy class to work, I listened to the usual fare on NPR, bombings, economy, Gonzales. However, the monotony would only last so long as the next thing I knew my zombie like commute was interrupted with that rare bird named hope. Before I knew what I was experiencing exactly, my fingers, clasped together in three, were tracing the sign of the cross over my body as my heart awakened and beat thankfulness and hope into my twisted world. You see, the sound bite NPR had chosen from Mr. Yeltsin's funeral was the epistle reading, chanted of course in Slavonic. Having been to very few services in Slavonic, my synapses fired, desperately searching for the cause of my inspired religious activity. It was simply wonderful to have such an experience where the head has to catch up to a runaway heart and body, and your motivation is the Gospel itself.
Not sure if any of that made sense, but I wanted to share it anyway.
Wednesday morning was the funeral for former Russian President Boris Yeltsin. That morning, as I drove in my car from a philosophy class to work, I listened to the usual fare on NPR, bombings, economy, Gonzales. However, the monotony would only last so long as the next thing I knew my zombie like commute was interrupted with that rare bird named hope. Before I knew what I was experiencing exactly, my fingers, clasped together in three, were tracing the sign of the cross over my body as my heart awakened and beat thankfulness and hope into my twisted world. You see, the sound bite NPR had chosen from Mr. Yeltsin's funeral was the epistle reading, chanted of course in Slavonic. Having been to very few services in Slavonic, my synapses fired, desperately searching for the cause of my inspired religious activity. It was simply wonderful to have such an experience where the head has to catch up to a runaway heart and body, and your motivation is the Gospel itself.
Not sure if any of that made sense, but I wanted to share it anyway.
Comments:
that is really cool.
friends of ours were recently in Tokyo, Japan, and visited an Orthodox Church there. It must have been their Bishop's Seat (sp?) because it was humungous, and their bishop was there. They encountered a couple priest's who spoke a little english, but they said they easily recognized the music of the liturgy, even if they could not speak the language.
friends of ours were recently in Tokyo, Japan, and visited an Orthodox Church there. It must have been their Bishop's Seat (sp?) because it was humungous, and their bishop was there. They encountered a couple priest's who spoke a little english, but they said they easily recognized the music of the liturgy, even if they could not speak the language.
May his Memory be Eternal.
What a blessing for you on your car ride.
I remember one day waking up to the sounds of a Mass (I think it was Jacqueline Kennedy's funeral) and it was a glorious feeling, even though I was only partialy awake.)
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What a blessing for you on your car ride.
I remember one day waking up to the sounds of a Mass (I think it was Jacqueline Kennedy's funeral) and it was a glorious feeling, even though I was only partialy awake.)
