Myrrh
Tonight we went to the little Serbian mission in Irvine, because a myrrh-streaming icon was going to be there, and Y was asked to help sing the service.
I have to admit that I was a bit skeptical about this icon at first. I think doubt and skepticism are my default reactions. I wish belief came more naturally to me, but I find myself always, always questioning.
We picked A up from school, then fought traffic on the 110 and 405 for over an hour. We got to the church with about 15 minutes to spare, only to find that the icon (and its driver) were stuck in the traffic from which we had just extricated ourselves and would be about 30 minutes late. A played in the grass outside the church, which is in an office park, while we waited.
At last the icon arrived, and the service started. The church itself is about the size of a largish living room, and it was packed with people. A and I stood near the front. The icon was actually quite small, a mounted print of the Iveron-Montreal icon of the Mother of God. (The original, of which this icon is a print, was copied from the original Iveron icon, which is on Mt. Athos.) Below it was a large quantity of gauze, soaked with oil.
For the beginning of the service, I could only think about my doubts about the myrrh-streaming icon. What did it mean? How could one know it was not a fake? But as the service progressed, I began to lose myself in the music. I thought less and less about my questions about the legitimacy of the icon and more about the fact that here, on a Friday night, a roomful of people had assembled to pray for the protection of the Mother of God. This seemed to me to be a kind of miracle itself. Not in an astounding, but-that's-impossible way. More in the sense that so many people had simply chosen to show up at church when they could have been doing any number of other things.
So often I feel that I am hanging onto itty bitty shreds of faith. I fear the slightest gust will blow me into the abyss of despair. Tonight, though, the love of the people in the church for one another and for the Mother of God was so palpable, so obstinately real, that there wasn't room for doubt or fear.
I have to admit that I was a bit skeptical about this icon at first. I think doubt and skepticism are my default reactions. I wish belief came more naturally to me, but I find myself always, always questioning.
We picked A up from school, then fought traffic on the 110 and 405 for over an hour. We got to the church with about 15 minutes to spare, only to find that the icon (and its driver) were stuck in the traffic from which we had just extricated ourselves and would be about 30 minutes late. A played in the grass outside the church, which is in an office park, while we waited.
At last the icon arrived, and the service started. The church itself is about the size of a largish living room, and it was packed with people. A and I stood near the front. The icon was actually quite small, a mounted print of the Iveron-Montreal icon of the Mother of God. (The original, of which this icon is a print, was copied from the original Iveron icon, which is on Mt. Athos.) Below it was a large quantity of gauze, soaked with oil.
For the beginning of the service, I could only think about my doubts about the myrrh-streaming icon. What did it mean? How could one know it was not a fake? But as the service progressed, I began to lose myself in the music. I thought less and less about my questions about the legitimacy of the icon and more about the fact that here, on a Friday night, a roomful of people had assembled to pray for the protection of the Mother of God. This seemed to me to be a kind of miracle itself. Not in an astounding, but-that's-impossible way. More in the sense that so many people had simply chosen to show up at church when they could have been doing any number of other things.
So often I feel that I am hanging onto itty bitty shreds of faith. I fear the slightest gust will blow me into the abyss of despair. Tonight, though, the love of the people in the church for one another and for the Mother of God was so palpable, so obstinately real, that there wasn't room for doubt or fear.
Comments