The Creed and the Afterfeast of the Transfiguration of Our Lord:
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
The Creed and the Afterfeast of the Transfiguration of Our Lord (Trisagion Films)
Today marks the official end of the after feast of the Transfiguration of our Lord... See my article on this after feast on the Trisagion Films website!
Pilgrimage to the Church of St. George in Lydda (Trisagion Films)
This year, I went on a pilgrimage to Israel and Cyprus with 38 other people. This is an article on one of our stops... The Church of St. George in Lydda. Check it out on Trisagion Films!
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Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
The Golden-Green Leaf and Vanities: A Reflection on Occupied Cyprus - Creative Writing #19
Context: The Turkish illegally occupied Cyprus in 1974, over a period of three days. Thousands upon thousands of Greek Cypriots were forced to evacuate their homes in Northern Cyprus, leaving the life they knew frozen in time as they ran for a safer reality. To this day, Turkey still occupies the same region. Cyprus is poetically referred to as “the golden-green leaf thrown in the sea” due to its appearance on the map.
Time and war have draped a protective film of dust on the tiny room. The aged concrete seems to crack under the injustice it has suffered; the timbers of wood splinter under neglect. A muezzin wails from that nearby screaming tower--a minaret--his calls bouncing off the walls that once amplified the chaotic noises of a young family. A household once handmade with care, now withers from the lack of it.
I scuffle among the fifty year-old bullet shells and overturned chairs to a wooden vanity in the corner. Passing a rickety bed, I notice the slightly scorched quilt. A thread-bare rug folds unexpectedly under my feet and I fall forward. Grasping unsuccessfully for the helping hands of ghosts long gone, I crash to the floor--dust flurrying into the once clear, dry air. I rise and am confronted with my own blurry image.
So this is her vanity? It is simple. A few carved embellishments, but like most things in her life, it was used for practicality. Its mirror is grayer with the smudge of grime than her ashen hair is with the toll of time.
There’s her old ivory comb, given as an unexpected gift on her wedding night, because she had broken her old one in a nervous attempt to tame her frizzy curls that night. It had a history of “last minute” uses, too. After returning from the fields, Papou had stolen it a few times in a rush to tidy his sweaty hair before she laid eyes on him. Apparently, she’d used it directly before fleeing, because even in that state of terror, she didn’t want the Turks to believe they’d gotten to her head... or her hair. Neatness was awfully important to her.
Of course, you wouldn’t know that by looking at the vanity as it is now--strewn with tipped bottles, pins, and various, unidentifiable knick knacks. But at one time it was quite immaculate, she says. It was one of the three things she took with her when she came with Papou after their wedding--this vanity, a box of icons and a baby lemon tree. For her own sanity, she continues to convince herself that it is as clean as when she left it. She doesn’t know that the lemon tree has died for lack of water, that the icons are nowhere to be found--burned during the invasion, most likely-- and that the state of this vanity embodies the unspoken reality of what the invasion did to these people. Where order once thrived in communion, chaos now rules in abandonment.
“The Golden-green leaf thrown in the sea (Χρυσοπράσινο φύλλο ριγμένο στο πέλαγο),” is a third brown now... the life drained from its stem.
(A field in Marathovounos, Cyprus--an occupied territory and the original inspiration for this little writing. Farther ahead, on one of those mountains, is an enormous flag representing the "Turkish Republic" set in stones along the mountain's vegetation.)
Time and war have draped a protective film of dust on the tiny room. The aged concrete seems to crack under the injustice it has suffered; the timbers of wood splinter under neglect. A muezzin wails from that nearby screaming tower--a minaret--his calls bouncing off the walls that once amplified the chaotic noises of a young family. A household once handmade with care, now withers from the lack of it.
I scuffle among the fifty year-old bullet shells and overturned chairs to a wooden vanity in the corner. Passing a rickety bed, I notice the slightly scorched quilt. A thread-bare rug folds unexpectedly under my feet and I fall forward. Grasping unsuccessfully for the helping hands of ghosts long gone, I crash to the floor--dust flurrying into the once clear, dry air. I rise and am confronted with my own blurry image.
So this is her vanity? It is simple. A few carved embellishments, but like most things in her life, it was used for practicality. Its mirror is grayer with the smudge of grime than her ashen hair is with the toll of time.
There’s her old ivory comb, given as an unexpected gift on her wedding night, because she had broken her old one in a nervous attempt to tame her frizzy curls that night. It had a history of “last minute” uses, too. After returning from the fields, Papou had stolen it a few times in a rush to tidy his sweaty hair before she laid eyes on him. Apparently, she’d used it directly before fleeing, because even in that state of terror, she didn’t want the Turks to believe they’d gotten to her head... or her hair. Neatness was awfully important to her.
Of course, you wouldn’t know that by looking at the vanity as it is now--strewn with tipped bottles, pins, and various, unidentifiable knick knacks. But at one time it was quite immaculate, she says. It was one of the three things she took with her when she came with Papou after their wedding--this vanity, a box of icons and a baby lemon tree. For her own sanity, she continues to convince herself that it is as clean as when she left it. She doesn’t know that the lemon tree has died for lack of water, that the icons are nowhere to be found--burned during the invasion, most likely-- and that the state of this vanity embodies the unspoken reality of what the invasion did to these people. Where order once thrived in communion, chaos now rules in abandonment.
“The Golden-green leaf thrown in the sea (Χρυσοπράσινο φύλλο ριγμένο στο πέλαγο),” is a third brown now... the life drained from its stem.
For a well-known song on "The Golden-Green Leaf," visit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckfYOT-HAdI
Lyrics + Translation: http://www.stixoi.info/stixoi.php?info=Translations&act=details&t_id=98
(The loved ones of those who fled, courtesy of Efstratios Papageorgiou.)
(The Church of Prophet Elijah, courtesy of Efstratios Papageorgiou.)
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
The Holy Great Martyr Procopius, July 8th
Today, on July 8th, we commemorate St. Procopius the Great Martyr. In my research on this saint, I encountered two dramatically different accounts of his life--one which is considered the earliest account and another which is the commonly held traditional account. Whether the accounts speak of different "Procopius's" or one of the two accounts is erroneous, there is still much to glean from both. I personally wrote on the common account concerning the soldier, but I also provide some links (courtesy of a friend) on the earlier account from Eusebius.
Enjoy!
(And icon of Saint Procopius from the 13th century;
Saint Catherine's Monastery on Mount Sinai)
Earliest Account:
From Eusebius Pamphilii of Caesarea's "History of the martyrs in Palestine:" http://www.intratext.com/IXT/ENG0798/_P4.HTM
The Legends of the Saints: An Introduction to Hagiography: http://books.google.com/books?id=6VI4AQAAMAAJ&pg=PA140&lpg=PA140&dq=procopius+martyr+legend
Common Account:
What do St. Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus and St. Constantine the Great’s legendary vision, “Ἐν Τούτῳ Νίκα!” (with this ‘sign’ you shall conquer!), have in common? Given that Constantine was born more than two hundred and fifty years after St. Paul’s death, a “common” thread--besides that of Christianity--is hard to identify.
However, in the life of St. Procopius (late 200s to 303 AD), the two events find a meeting point. Born near Jerusalem, Neanius (his pagan name) was raised by his pagan mother, Theodosia, to become a machine for political success, academic accomplishment and monetary ease. His Christian father, Christopher, died while he was still very young, which left him highly vulnerable to the Roman paganism of the time. He was groomed for secular achievement and had very little difficulty achieving it, securing the interested eye of Emperor Diocletian soon after his education was completed. Upon his mother’s request, he became the Duke of Alexandria--a chief executive officer--filling her with pride and joy. Diocletian quickly sent this promising young man on the one mission that would alter his life: a campaign against the Christians to exterminate them. Neanius, eager to please the emperor, lost no time in the expedition. However, this pursuit was over before it began, for as he rested along the road with two bodyguards, a shining cross appeared to him and a loud voice said, “I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who was crucified.”
This event changed the entire cadence of Neanius’ life. Like St. Paul, he adopted a Christian name--Procopius (meaning “progress”)--and redirected his forces to defend the Christians in Jerusalem from those sieging it, much to his mother’s confusion and dismay. Similar to St. Constantine, he ordered that the cross from his vision be inscribed on every shield. Theodosia’s perfectly built temple of a boy was transformed into a palace for God. The Christians were obviously bewildered at this unforeseen support from the Duke of Alexandria, but they received it joyfully and hosted him until the prefect, Holkian, summoned him to a pagan temple. He accepted this summon only under the condition that some of his Christian brothers accompany him. Despite the efforts of the prefect, St. Procopius and his brothers refused to give reverence to the pagan gods, praying instead for the Lord to demonstrate His merciful power. After they exited the temple, it began to rumble and soon crashed, broken and shattered, to the ground. This was too much for the already angry Holkian, who perceived these miraculous events as black magic. Thus, the martyrdoms of St. Procopius and his friends were swift: beheading without a proper trial on July 8th, 303 A.D.
Troparion — Tone 4
Your holy martyr Procopius, O Lord, through his suffering has received an incorruptible crown from You, our God. For having Your strength, he laid low his adversaries, and shattered the powerless boldness of demons. Through his intercessions save our souls!
Sources:
Poulos, George. "July 8, Saint Prokopois the Great Martyr." Orthodox Saints. Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press, Print.
"Greatmartyr Procopius of Caesarea, in Palestine." The Orthodox Church in America, n.d. Web. <http://oca.org/saints/troparia/2014/07/08/101966-greatmartyr-procopius-of-caesarea-in-palestine>.
Further Studying:
Mystagogy: http://www.johnsanidopoulos.com/2014/07/saint-prokopios-great-martyr-as-model_8.html
The Orthodox Church in America: http://oca.org/saints/lives/2014/07/08/101966-greatmartyr-procopius-of-caesarea-in-palestine
Prologue from Orchid: http://www.stnicholasredbank.org/july1-8.htm
Other links: http://www.orthodox.net/menaion-july/08-the-holy-great-martyr-saint-procopius.html, http://www.stmarybyzantinecatholic.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/great-martyr-procopius.pdf,
Monday, July 7, 2014
Great-Martyr Kyriaki of Nicomedia (Trisagion Films)
Another daily "short" for Trisagion Films:
Great-Martyr Kyriaki of Nicomedia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kyriaki_%28martyr%29
http://www.antiochian.org/node/18926
http://www.dormitionpgh.org/tidbits/ayiakyriaki.asp
~Logic and Language~
Are you a lover of logic or language? Both? Requiring no previous language experience, these sites offer challenging exercises in both areas--growing your ability to grasp the various structures, sounds and nuances of language through logical deduction.
The Linguistics Challenge:
(Similar to Oxford's undergraduate admissions test for the Faculty of Linguistics, Phonetics and Philology, these puzzles challenge your ability to observe the function and patterns of language. If you have a firm grasp of English grammar and a passion for logical puzzles,
these puzzles will be addicting.)
The Great Language Game:
(Do you find yourself subtly intruding and intently listening to the conversations of others, attempting to pinpoint where exactly they come from, what exactly their language is? If so, this is the game for you. Currently featuring 78 different languages, your inner analyst will be challenged in a quest for identification.)
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