Many thanks to OFA (Orthodox Filmmakers and Artists) for offering up some space for me to talk about “Nearly Orthodox” today! Hope you’ll take a moment to check it out 🙂
The manuscript for my book is now heaving a sigh of relief from my laptop in the corner of the room. After the last few months of staring at it each morning at 6am and typing furiously into the computer- sometimes laughing, sometimes sobbing- I hit “print” and then pushed the silver macbook aside. I’ll let it breathe there on the drive while hard copies come with me this week to The Glen and with Dave on his trip to parts unknown. While the digital master rests, rising like bread before baking, the paper copies will be subject to line edits and commentary and blue highlighter, because blue is my favorite color. All that to say that if I’ve been absent, ignoring emails or phone calls, silent online (it happens) then this has been the cause.
Hang tight, Lovelies. Good things coming.
The spread in the calendars divides me this year from my “western leaning” Christian friends and family. On this day, the Gregorian calendar informs us that it is Good Friday. In about 5 weeks the Julian calendar will issue its own proclamation of Good Friday and I’ll be in the throes of Holy Week finally. In between I’ll be scrounging and stockpiling marshmallow peeps and waiting.
I ran across this poem today though by Ranier Maria Rilke and thought I’d post it for those of you who are embracing the dark and the hope-filled this weekend. Our calendars may not agree but the sense of what we’re doing here, why we follow this narrative and not another, on that point at least we agree.
The Last Supper
They are assembled, astonished and disturbed
round him, who like a sage resolved his fate,
and now leaves those to whom he most belonged,
leaving and passing by them like a stranger.
The loneliness of old comes over him
which helped mature him for his deepest acts;
now will he once again walk through the olive grove,
and those who love him still will flee before his sight.
To this last supper he has summoned them,
and (like a shot that scatters birds from trees)
their hands draw back from reaching for the loaves
upon his word: they fly across to him;
they flutter, frightened, round the supper table
searching for an escape. But he is present
everywhere like an all-pervading twilight-hour.
[On seeing Leonardo da Vinci’s “Last Supper”, Milan 1904.]
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
Rainer Maria Rilke